


Thoroughly Modern Jane

by usuallyproperlyhydrated



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, no artificial insemination, the 1920s AU nobody asked for but everybody needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallyproperlyhydrated/pseuds/usuallyproperlyhydrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As a twenty-three year old virgin in 1922, Jane Gloriana Villanueva is not as out of place as her counterpart in 2014."</p><p>It's the Roaring Twenties--liquor is illegal, hemlines are rising, and all Jane wants is to get a degree, become a published author, and marry the fella of her dreams (although not necessarily in that order). All Petra wants is an incontestable spot in society's upper echelons and oodles of money (both at the same time, preferably). Naturally they fall in love and everything goes to rack and to ruin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As a twenty-three year old virgin in 1922, Jane Gloriana Villanueva is not as out of place as her counterpart in 2014. This Jane, of course, knows of unmarried women who are not virgins—her mother, Xiomara, being one of them—but they are far less common than those who wait until marriage. And if her _abuela_ , Alba, has anything to say about it, Jane will never leave their ranks.

“But Abuela!!” Jane protests, “It’s not like Michael and I are going to get up to any mischief at the movies.”

“Ay! That is just what young people get up to in those places!” says Alba in Spanish. “Even if you don’t do the deed, there are plenty of other things you can do in that dark room.”

“Like what?”

“Necking. Petting.” Alba wags a stern finger. “And you may think that that is not as sinful as having carnal relations, but it is one step on the road to it!”

“Abuela! We aren’t going to do any necking or petting,” Jane reasons. “You know Michael—he’s always the perfect gentleman.”

“ _Sí_ , when he’s courting you here in our home. But who knows what he gets up to outside of these walls, eh?”

“Ma, reason with her!” Jane pleads.

Xiomara exits her bedroom, dressed to the nines in a sparkly red straight-silhouetted dress with fringe dangling off the knee-length hem. She’s putting in shimmering earrings that match her paste necklace. Jane knows instantly that anything her mother says will only cause her grandmother to dig her heels in further.

“It’s just the movies, Ma,” Xiomara says. “There are worse places she could go.”

“ _Sí_ , _como un_ speakeasy.” Alba crosses herself, muttering a prayer. In her opinion, alcohol is only acceptable in the form of the communion wine, whose manufacture has, by the grace of God, been approved by the government even in this time of Prohibition.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a church dance,” Xo says with a wry smile.

Jane stifles a laugh, hiding her grin behind a hand. Although she and her mother don’t always see eye to eye, the experience of attending a dance in a local dance hall with other Catholics is a universally miserable experience. Venezuelans, Colombians, Puerto Ricans, and Mexicans alike crowd into the halls, looking for a way to forget their troubles and find a decent match while they’re at it. It gets hot and sweaty within minutes of beginning and one can hardly hear one’s dance partner over the roar of varying degrees of Spanish and American accents. Jane would just as soon stay at home and read. Xiomara would just as soon go to a dance without the religious connections.

Alba doesn’t appreciate the joke. She begins arguing again in earnest.

“You like Michael,” wheedles Jane. “He’s a good man from a good family with a steady job. He’s even started attending mass more regularly since we began courting!”

“ _Sí, pero…_ ”

“And he’s a cop,” Xo says. “If we get in trouble with the law, he can get us out.”

“Xiomara!”

“Ma!”

“What? I’m just thinking pragmatically!” Xiomara, finished with her preparations for going out, runs her hands down the side of her dress. “How do I look?”

“You look great,” Jane says.

“I don’t see why you took that job singing at the hotel,” Alba grumbles. “You were getting a good enough wage from waiting tables, where you could wear clothes that covered all of your skin.”

“Thanks.” Xo gives her daughter and then her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up!”

On her way out the door, Xiomara runs into Michael, whose hand is poised to knock. In his other hand he has a half a dozen roses.

“Sorry, Ms. Villanueva,” he apologizes. “Say, you look like a million bucks!”

She gives him a pleased smile and continues on her way. Even though the front door is already open and Jane and Alba can see him, Michael still knocks. This makes Jane laugh, and she pulls him into their small apartment.

“These are for you,” he says, offering the flowers with a flourish.

“Oh, Michael!” Jane melts. “These are beautiful!”

She goes to the sink and fills up a vase while Michael attempts to have a pleasant conversation with Alba. Alba is having none of it. Michael shoots Jane a bewildered look, as he and Alba usually get along famously. Jane rolls her eyes.

“She thinks that if we go to the movies we’ll commit some kind of sin,” she explains.

“Which sin?” Michael frowns teasingly. “Gluttony? Sloth?”

“Lust.”

Michael gives an affected gasp. “No! Mrs. Villanueva, surely you don’t think so poorly of me?”

“I’m just trying to think of what’s best for my granddaughter!” Alba waves a hand.

“What if we invited you along?”

Jane’s heart swells. She hasn’t gone steady with a lot of men, but the ones she has gone steady with would have never suggested taking her grandmother with them. They would have shrugged at Alba’s fears and taken Jane out anyway.

The offer catches Alba off guard. She peers into Michael’s face to see if he’s being serious. His frank blue eyes hold no hint of facetiousness. Her resolution wavers.

“ _Pero…_ ” she begins. “But I have nothing to wear.” She plucks at her faded dress, worn in the elbows and along the seams. “This is not suitable for the movies.”

“Applesauce! You look good enough to eat,” Michael says. Alba’s cheeks flush. “It isn’t the opera or the ballet, just the cinema. It’s the everyman’s entertainment. No one will care what you’re wearing. Right, Jane?”

“Right.” She’s never been allowed to go to the movies with a man before, but she’s gone plenty of times with Lina for Saturday matinees. “And it’s dark, Abuela. No one will be looking at your clothes.”

“I can’t read English very well,” Alba says.

“I’ll read the dialogue cards for you,” Jane promises.

For a brief minute, it seems like Alba is seriously considering the offer. But at last, she shakes her head.

“No, this is entertainment for young people,” she says. “You two go and stay out of trouble.”

“Are you sure?”

“Really, Abuela?”

“ _Sí, sí_ , go ahead.” She settles down into her usual chair, accepting a kiss from Jane. “I will pray that the Lord will keep you out of temptation.”

Michael opens the door with a grin. “Shall we?”

Even though Alba can’t see them, Jane doesn’t slip her arm into Michael’s until they’ve gone down the stairs, out of the building, and rounded the corner of the block.  


+++++  


At the Marbella, some forty-five minute walk away from the cinema where Jane and Michael are heading, going out is the last thing on Petra Andel’s mind.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Her fiancé, Rafael, pokes his head into her office.

She’s seated at her desk, scowling at some figures that won’t add up. A couple of seconds pass before Rafael’s question registers and Petra looks down at her body. Cream-colored slacks, crisp white shirt, cream-colored suit jacket, long black tie…

“I am dressed,” she say, not allowing the irritation she feels creep into her tone. Then she realizes the weight behind Rafael’s words and glances at the clock in a panic. “Is it already five? Damn! Your father isn’t already here, is he?”

“No, but we’re supposed to meet him and Luisa for dinner in half an hour.”

Rafael looks as though he’s stopped in to check on her in the middle of his own evening ministrations. A white bowtie dangles around his neck, his tan cheeks have been freshly shaved. Petra takes a moment to admire just how handsome he is. She’d say that it was the luckiest day of her life when she met him, but she knows that it had little to do with luck and a lot to do with string pulling on her part.

“I’ll go change immediately.”

She stands up from her desk, gives Rafael a swift kiss, and goes up to her personal rooms. In the earlier days of their courtship, Rafael would have followed her up and watched her change. She might have even put on a little show for him and they both would have been waylaid from their preparations. But in this their second year of being engaged, things are less than fresh in that department. As Petra sheds her daywear, she cycles through strategies to rekindle Rafael’s interest. A quick glance at her semi-immodest engagement ring does nothing to dispel the sudden wave of anxiety. Rafael has been engaged two times before. The ring means little more than nothing. And even when they do get married—Petra is determined that a wedding _will_ happen—that is no guarantee of security either. As anyone with Victorian ideals could tell you with disgust in their tone, divorce is becoming more and more common in this modern age. Petra hates the idea of divorce as well, but for different reasons.

The stylish, modern suit is replaced with a mercurial silver dress that is cut quite low in the back. She’s just touching up her makeup when Rafael knocks on her door.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” She slips her arm through his. He remains stiff. That won’t do at all. “You look very dashing tonight.”

“Thank you.” His eyes graze over her. “Is that a new dress?”

“It is, actually.” She’s surprised that he’s noticed. She doesn’t hold out hope that he will compliment how she looks in it, and so her hope is not crushed when he moves the conversation along.

“Don’t swear while we’re at dinner,” he says.

“All right.”

“Don’t mention that I’ve been letting you handle some accounts.”

“Those are some of the most successful accounts now.”

“I know,” Rafael says grudgingly. “But you know my father. He’s got very old fashioned ideas of what women should and should not do.”

“If he asks about my leisure pursuits—” doubtful, as Mr. Solano hardly ever asks Petra questions “—I’ll tell him that I’ve taken up watercolor.”

Rafael snorts, the image of his fiancée serenely putting a brush to canvas apparently causing him great amusement. That’s a thought, Petra thinks. Perhaps she doesn’t need to be ravishing to keep his attention. Perhaps being amusing will be enough until she figures something else out.

(A pregnancy out of wedlock may seem like a surefire way to lock him down, but her mother has cautioned her against this tactic. Someone as rich as Rafael would surely be able to pay her off and then get rid of her. And that’s assuming she is able to get pregnant in the first place. Her mother had had a devil of a time getting pregnant with her, and before something actually stuck, Rafael would have moved on to another woman.)

“Anything else?” she asks coolly.

“Don’t ask Luisa about her practice.”

The fact that Emilio Solano’s only daughter had become a doctor and was completely uninterested in making an advantageous marriage is a bit of a sore spot for him. It’s even more sore because of how Luisa managed to pull it off. Petra tries not to smile as she recalls how Luisa first told her the story.

“I couldn’t flat out ask him for the money to go to medical school, you know? He’s been on my case to get married for years now and anything that doesn’t have to do with that is dismissed out of hand. So I asked for a huge bag of clams for a trip to Europe to see the sights and meet eligible European bachelors.” Luisa’s expression was two parts sly and one part proud when she’d told this to Petra. “So the old man writes me a check and I immediately cash it and take it to the New York Medical College.”

“Duly noted,” Petra says. “And if your father asks about a wedding date?”

“We haven’t decided on one,” Rafael says tersely.

Petra doesn’t press the issue. They arrive in the hotel’s restaurant and are immediately swept to their private table by the maître d’. Neither Emilio nor Luisa has arrived yet, so Rafael orders a soda water and Petra allows herself the luxury of going over those frustrating numbers again. It’s harder without her fountain pen in hand, and she closes her eyes in an effort to remember precisely which accounts she’d been working on.

“Rafael!” Emilio booms. A lesser woman than Petra would have jumped, but Petra is on her feet, all smiles and charm. “And pretty Miss Petra, good to see you’re sticking around.”

Petra supplies the correct phrase for such a statement and they all sit down. No one dares ask where Luisa is. A waiter comes over—Petra notices the shininess of the fabric around his knees and makes a note to bring it up with the manager—and takes their order. Emilio orders for five people.

“Is Luisa bringing someone with her?” Rafael hopes it’s a male suitor, someone who will take the heat off of him and Petra.

“Unlikely,” Emilio scoffs. “No, no, my new squeeze, Rose is coming. I told you. I sent you a telegram saying, ‘I’m bringing my Rose to dinner.’”

As his mood totters dangerously on the edge of sullenness, Petra gracefully intervenes.

“That’s right, isn’t it, Raf?” She smiles brightly at him. “We got the telegram early this morning. You said you were looking forward to meeting her. You must have forgotten with all of the other work you’ve done today.”

Rafael has, of course, done no such work. He spent the morning out on the river and spent the afternoon on the golf links. In fact, Petra hasn’t seen much of him at all this past week. That is, she supposes, another reason why he keeps her around. She’s willing to do the work around the hotel that he doesn’t want to do. He’s given her express permission to forge his signature on minor memos and checks.

“Is that so?” Emilio casts a scrutinizing gaze over his only son. “And here I was, ready to tell you that—”

And at this inopportune moment, Luisa appears, closely followed by a redheaded woman so curvaceous that Petra felt sure every Victorian-minded New Yorker would burst in the doors and scream at her for being the embodiment of sin. _This_ was Rose? Petra knows she shouldn’t be surprised—only exceptionally beautiful women can get away with being shameless gold diggers. She should know, after all. But all of the other women Emilio has brought around have been beautiful, not this level of stunning. Petra feels herself losing ground the closer to the table Rose gets.

Rafael flicks his gaze up and down and up and down over Rose’s figure while his father lumbers out of his chair to give Rose a kiss. Petra isn’t even jealous. How can she be? She and this woman aren’t even of the same species. She greets Luisa with a brief kiss on the cheek instead. Luisa’s breath smells like bathtub gin and lipstick, and Petra discreetly slides Luisa a mint from the middle of the table while her father is still occupied. Luisa pops it into her mouth with a quick thanks.

The dinner goes much more smoothly than the dozen other dinners Petra has attended with her fiancé’s father. Even though Luisa is the tiniest bit zozzled, the conversation stays cool and impersonal. Emilio talks about how the other hotels in the Marquis Group are doing, and Rafael pretends to be interested. Petra notices with some interest that Luisa refuses to make eye contact with Rose, despite Rose’s persistent efforts to draw her into a conversation.

They get to the dessert before Emilio upsets the balance.

“As I was going to tell you before my darling Rose came,” Emilio kisses his sweetheart’s knuckles and Luisa chokes on some rum pudding sans the rum, “Rafael, I think I ought to move back here and run things.”

“What?” Rafael isn’t pretending to be amiable anymore. “What do you mean? You said the Marbella is mine! Our profits have been up forty percent.”

“Be that as it may, I’m concerned that the profits will not _stay_ up.” Emilio’s brow is furrowed. “You’re not known for your fortitude, Rafael.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you don’t even have the wherewithal to settle down with a perfectly nice, attractive dame! How can you be expected to hold onto the hotel when you can’t even hold onto a woman?”

The color in Rafael’s cheeks has heightened and Petra knows that if someone doesn’t intervene, things are about to get very, very unpleasant.

“Oh, Mr. Solano,” she says with a light, tinkling laugh. “Don’t get all riled up on my account! I’m quite happy with things as they are.”

“Yes, I imagine you are. But that still doesn’t preclude the fact that I want to see my son settled down and giving me grandchildren.”

Rafael’s brow has furrowed to match his father’s. His jaw is clenching, the little muscle back by his ears growing and shrinking.

“Didn’t he tell you?” Petra continues in her society voice. “Old Raf’s going to be settled quite soon indeed.”

“Is that so?” Emilio says acerbically.

“Yes, we have a date and everything.”

She feels Rafael’s leg flex underneath the table, but other than that he shows no signs of being surprised. Emilio doesn’t ask her to continue, just stares at the couple expectantly.

“The date we’ve settled on is June fifteenth.”

“Of 1922?” Emilio grunts.

That tinkling laugh again. “Yes, of 1922.”

“That’s fairly soon. Why haven’t I seen an announcement yet?”

“They’re still at the printers,” Petra explains. “And we knew you were coming to visit, so we decided to tell you in person. We wouldn’t dream of getting the date printed in the society pages until we had your blessing.”

This has done the trick. The storm cloud that had hovered over their tucked away table is instantly dissipated. Emilio claps his son on the back, offers him a cigar.

Petra allows herself to relax just a hair.

Another day survived. She can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, what have I done...


	2. Chapter 2

“How was the show on Saturday night?” Jane asks Lina as they’re getting into their waitressing uniforms.

“Snooze-worthy! I was expecting some rousing entertainment and all I got was yet another woman who’s clearly scrambling for a dime.”

“I beg your pardon?” Despite their ten-year friendship, Jane is ready to box Lina’s ears. How dare she! Lina knows Xiomara; how could she say something so hurtful?

“At least this one’s a redhead,” Lina muses, ignoring Jane’s outburst.

Jane pauses in the middle of pulling on her sensible shoes to look at Lina. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“I’m talking about the Solano family dinner,” Lina says, tying on her worn apron. “Mr. Emilio Solano is in town and his new doll is even younger than the last one. Mr. Rafael Solano kept sneaking glances at her all night. She didn’t pay him any mind, though. The son may have some money, but she knows who’s really got the butter for her bread.” She arranges her hair under the hideous caps they were made to wear, using the one mirror in the changing room to do so. “There’s a date for Mr. Rafael’s wedding now. At least, that’s what Claudio told me. But you and I both know that you can’t trust everything that comes out of his mouth, not since that incident with Icel.”

Jane shakes her head to clear it of Lina’s gossip. “No, I don’t care about the Solano family. I’m talking about my mom’s show. Her performance. She said she was singing at the hotel on Saturday night. How was it?”

“Xiomara didn’t perform on Saturday.” Lina places a hand on her hip thoughtfully. “I wish she had. This place was dull as tombs. The last time Mr. Emilio came to visit there was an enormous row, do you remember?”

“I remember having to clean up after it,” Jane says wryly. But her mind returns to the task at hand. “Why would Ma say that she’d be performing here if she wasn’t?”

“You probably misunderstood her.” They know that their time for idle conversation was coming to an end and that they would soon be laden with plates of food they could never afford. “Did she say that she’d be performing at the Marbella?”

“Well, no. She said she was performing at the hotel, but I assumed—”

“You know what they say about assumptions, Jane,” says Lina as she breezes out of the kitchen doors.

Jane frowns, but follows Lina out the doors as well. The Marbella must be doing good business because the restaurant is full of hungry customers waiting for breakfast. She’s kept too busy to wonder about her mother’s activities until there’s a lull in the activity around eleven. Jane hopes that things will be slow enough for at least half an hour so she can go find her mother, who is cleaning rooms up on the seventh floor. When Xiomara had come home on Saturday night and Jane and Alba had asked how her performance was, Xiomara had just waved a fistful of cash at them and said it had been profitable. Jane wishes she had asked more questions. She knows that she’s probably getting all het up about nothing. Still, it would be nice to get the matter cleared up once and for all.

Luck is on Jane’s side. While the other wait staff is given a break to go out back and smoke or shoot the breeze, James, the kitchen manager, sends her to the administration floor with a tray for Miss Andel. Jane figures she can take the elevator to the fourteenth floor, give Mr. Rafael Solano’s fiancée her food, and then stop by the seventh floor to speak with her mother briefly. She is only slightly irritated to be given the task that is usually reserved for room service waiters only.

“Going up?” The elevator operator asks her. When she tells him she’s going to the offices, he pushes the lever up to the fourteenth floor. Although the elevator is a damn sight smoother than the elevator in Lina’s building and much more convenient than walking up all the flights of stairs in her own building, it still lurches and creaks somewhat. Jane has to keep both hands on the tray to make sure that Miss Andel’s breakfast doesn’t end up all over the elevator operator’s uniform or the nice carpet.

When she’s arrived at Miss Andel’s door and shifted the tray to one hand, Jane knocks tentatively

“What?” comes the sharp voice from inside.

“I have your breakfast tray, miss.”

“Just leave it outside then.”

Jane isn’t sure that that is the proper room service protocol, but she carefully sets the tray down anyway and is almost to the elevator when Miss Andel’s door swings open.

“Did you say breakfast?” she shoots, making Jane freeze in her tracks.

“Yes, miss.” Jane turns around to see Miss Andel standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

This is the first time Jane has seen her up close—her other viewings have been blurs of blonde, bobbed hair darting around the lobby. She looks precisely like the fiancée of a wealthy hotel owner should. That blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, her wide eyes are blue and her lips are just the right shade of pink. Her somewhat narrow figure is very much in vogue with the society women. Miss Andel is wearing a long string of beads down her front over her simple drop waist skirt, and they hang very straight indeed.

The gossip of the staff is that Miss Andel is very beautiful, but that she doesn’t have any money of her own. They say that Miss Andel’s cold manner will get her into trouble and that Mr. Solano will terminate his engagement to her in no time at all.

“It’s eleven o’clock,” Miss Andel says.

“Yes.”

“Why am I just now being sent breakfast?” she demands. “It’s almost time for lunch, I’ve been up for hours!”

“What time did you call for your breakfast, miss?” Jane wants very much to go back down to the ground level and make James deal with this.

“I didn’t call for breakfast,” says Miss Andel haughtily. “I’m engaged to Mr. Solano. Breakfast should be sent up to me unless I specifically say otherwise. How long have you worked here?”

“Twelve years, but—”

“Twelve years? I’ve only been here for two, is it really that hard to get used to new practices?”

“No, miss, but—”

“There is no ‘but’. Now pick up my tray and bring it into my office.”

Jane is used to serving rude customers. She doesn’t know what it is, but the more money a customer has, the fewer manners they have. But the way that Miss Andel orders her around slips right under her skin and makes Jane grit her teeth as she picks the tray up from the floor.

Like the rest of the Marbella, Miss Andel’s office is posh and spotless. Jane can’t pin down why this catches her off guard for a moment, but as she sets the tray on the neat oak desk, she sees that there are no personal touches. A framed portrait of the New York skyline is hanging on one of the walls. This very portrait, however, is also in at least fifty other rooms in the hotel. Jane knows that Mr. Rafael Solano keeps a photograph of his family on his desk, and individual photographs of his sister and his deceased mother sit on his filing cabinet. Mr. Emilio Solano keeps a photo of his children and his current fling. Miss Andel has no such indications of her personal connections.

“I’m not giving you a tip,” Miss Andel says shortly.

“Sorry?” Jane whips around.

“If that’s why you’re—” Miss Andel gives a careless flick of her wrist, “—lingering, it isn’t going to happen. Get back to the kitchen.”

Jane wants to tell Miss Andel that she is _not_ lingering, thank you very much, and that if she _was_ lingering, she certainly wouldn’t have been waiting for any sort of tip. She knows better than to expect generosity from a snob. No, she had been lingering to get a read on Mr. Solano’s fiancée and so far the portrait isn’t at all flattering.

“Yes, miss.” Jane dips in a quick curtsey and leaves, closing the door with a well-trained softness that doesn’t reveal the irritation she feels. Only when she’s waiting for the elevator to come does she let out an exasperated sigh.

“Rough day?”

Jane jumps and turns to see Mr. Rafael Solano standing behind her, hands in his pockets and an amused expression on his face.

“No, sir,” she stammers. “No, not at all. I was just…”

“Talking to my fiancée,” he says, inclining his head towards Miss Andel’s office. “She isn’t the easiest person to get along with.”

There is no safe answer to this question so Jane gives him an ambiguous smile and prays to Saint Expeditus that the elevator will come soon.

“What was it this time?” he asks. “Was her food too cold? Or did someone forget to bring her fresh towels?”

Again, Jane knows that there is no safe answer for her. Even if Mr. Solano is on the rocks with Miss Andel, she doesn’t want to get in the middle of their personal business. If Miss Andel finds out that Jane complained about her to Mr. Solano, it will only bring grief. Jane knows, just like everyone who works at the Marbella, that Miss Andel is much more involved in the day to day activities of the hotel than her fiancée is.

Thankfully the elevator arrives before Jane can answer and she gets in and is about to tell the operator to take her to the seventh floor when Mr. Rafael joins her.

“Are you going back down to the kitchens?” he asks.

Jane can’t very well make a quick stop to see her mother with the hotel’s owner keeping an eye on her, so she just nods and he tells the elevator operator where to take them.

“What was your name again?”

“Jane, sir.”

“That’s right,” he says, as if they’ve ever been formally introduced. They have not, of course. Jane was hired some twelve years ago by a manager, when Mr. Rafael was still in boarding school. He’s never paid any attention to her or any of the other employees in the place unless they were exceptionally pretty.

“Jane,” he repeats, a slight smile on his face. “Very pretty.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solano.”

“Please, call me Rafael. Mr. Solano is my father.”

There is no way Jane is going to call him by his first name. It’s dangerous for her to outright refuse him, though, so she compromises and returns his smile with one of her own. It’s not quite as flirtatious as his is, though, of course. She’s going steady with Michael and to flirt with anyone else would be wrong. Not to mention the indecency of encouraging her employer in that way. It’s quite one thing for him to cross lines of decorum—he’s a man with money. If Jane, being a woman with little money, was to try to cross those same lines going the other way…

“Rafael!”

They both jump as the elevator doors are slid open to reveal the first floor of the Marbella. Mr. Emilio Solano is wrapped in a robe, undoubtedly on his way out to the pool, and calls to his son.

“Are you just getting up?” Mr. Solano asks, irritated. “It’s no wonder the hotel is going to the dogs. You sleep away half the day and then you spend the other half chasing skirts!”

Jane blushes furiously and tries to slip away before she gets too involved. She can still hear them arguing even when she’s almost to the kitchen.

“I wasn’t chasing skirts!” Rafael is indignant.

“Of course you were. Have you seen Rose?”

“I wouldn’t know where Rose is, I’m not the one who—”

Jane doesn’t get to hear what Rafael’s counterargument is because the kitchen door swings behind her and she’s enveloped in the noises and smells of the lunch rush.

“Did you get lost?” James asks, holding a hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. He cuts her off before she can explain herself. “I don’t care. Grab that and go do your job.”

The rest of the day passes in a haze of scanty tips and the occasional spilled drink. Jane is impatient for her shift to end so she can confront her mother once and for all about the singing gig she has on the side. Once she’s changed out of her uniform, she waits for Xiomara in the changing room so they can walk home together. Fifteen minutes pass. Jane checks the clock anxiously. Twenty minutes. She strains to recall their individual schedules. Perhaps she’s made a mistake and this isn’t one of the few days that their shifts line up? But no, here comes Serafina who works on the cleaning staff with her mother.

“Xiomara? No, dear, she left an hour ago.”

“But her shift didn’t end until—”

“I know! Said she had an important meeting she couldn’t miss.”

No, Xiomara hadn’t said who the meeting was with. No, she hadn’t said where it was. No, she hadn’t mentioned what it was about. No matter how hard Jane presses Serafina, Jane can’t get anything useful. There is nothing left for her to do but go back to their apartment and wait for Xiomara to return.

“ _Hola_ , _cariño_ ,” Alba greets her. “How are you? How was your day? Where is your mother?”

Jane has to make a decision then. Does she bring Abuela into the equation, making them both unduly worried about Xiomara? Or does she wait until she knows for sure that Xiomara is doing something worth worrying about?

“She’s singing at the hotel again,” Jane says. “She did really well last week.”

“ _En serio_?” Alba doesn’t know whether she should be proud of her daughter for being popular with a bunch of rich people or exasperated that Xiomara still thinks she can make a career out of singing.

Jane nods, not trusting her mouth not to spill the truth. She excuses herself from her abuela’s company and spends the rest of the evening reading one of the books that had been recommended to her by one of her old English teachers. At some point Jane would like to go back to school and get a degree. An unrealistic dream, she knows, but that doesn’t stop her from putting a portion of her wages aside each week in the hopes that it might one day come to pass. Education for women is becoming much more accessible, even if it is primarily for white women. Luisa Solano is as Hispanic as Jane is, and she managed to become a practicing physician. Again, there is the fact that Luisa comes from a very wealthy family. But if Jane saves up, maybe…

Xiomara doesn’t come home until well after midnight, and Jane has fallen asleep in the front room. Despite the quiet way Xiomara shuts the door, Jane still startles awake.

“Where have you been?” she asks. Her mother is wearing the same stunning red dress from Saturday night, although her makeup is less fresh and her hair is more mussed than it had been when she’d left.

“Singing,” Xiomara responds, sensing that she’s edging forward onto dangerous ground and deciding which tactic to take.

“Singing where?” Jane crosses her arms. “Not at the Marbella.”

“I never said I was singing at the Marbella.”

“So where are you singing?”

“A hotel.”

“Which one?”

“One uptown.” Xiomara flaps her hand. She pulls cash out of her purse and puts some in the communal family tin up above the secondhand icebox. “You probably haven’t heard of it.”

Jane refuses to be impressed by the show of money. “Does it have a name?”

Xiomara yawns. “Oh, you know. It’s just one of those places. Good night, Jane.” She’s gone, darting into her own bedroom and snicking the door shut, before Jane can get another word in edgewise.

It’s too late to do anything else tonight. Jane changes into her nightdress and resolves to get to the bottom of it the very next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...did I mention that this is going to be a slow burn? It's going to be a slow burn. Also, much thanks to those who have read and left kudos and commented so far! :D Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

To Jane’s annoyance, Xiomara resumes her regular schedule for the next couple of days. When she confronts her mother about it, her questions are waved off or ignored.

“Are you all right?” Michael asks when he attends a family dinner. She keeps shooting her mother not-so-covert glances, as though Xiomara will disappear at any moment with a flimsy excuse.

“I’m fine,” she replies brightly.

“Okay.” He looks doubtful, but doesn’t press the issue.

“What’s new with you?” Alba asks. “Are you working on any exciting cases?”

Michael’s been a beat cop for the last five years and has just been promoted to detective in the past few months. The Villanueva women have been waiting anxiously to hear about his first real police assignment.

“I can’t give you details,” he says reluctantly. “Not until the case is closed.”

“Oh, come on,” Xiomara teases. “Can’t you give us a little hint? Is it a grisly murder?”

“A robbery?” Alba asks.

“Something to do with gangsters?” Even Jane isn’t immune to the curiosity that has seeped into the small kitchen.

“Sorry, it’s strictly police business,” Michael says with a smile. “I can’t have you ladies blabbing the skinny all over town.”

This comment earns him an elbow in the ribs from Jane, a wounded sniff from Alba, and an outright eye roll from Xo.

“He’s probably been assigned to work on rooting out the blind pigs,” Xo says, putting another forkful of rice and beans into her mouth. “I’ve heard that’s the assignment they’re giving all the new detectives. The government’s pouring all our tax money into making sure folks can’t have a good time.”

“ _Que es esto_?” Alba is confused. “What is a blind pig? Why does the government want to get rid of them? How do they give you a good time?”

“It’s slang, Abuela,” Jane explains. “It’s another way to say speakeasy.” Her response is somewhat distracted, though, because at the mention of the illegal establishments that served alcohol, both Michael and Xo’s expressions shifted. Michael’s ears turned red and Xo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“It’s my job to uphold the law,” Michael says. “It shouldn’t matter to you which law I’m upholding specifically.”

“That is a perfectly acceptable answer,” says Jane, squeezing his hand on the tabletop.

The conversation takes a turn down another avenue, but Jane doesn’t forget what has been revealed. Michael is almost certainly working on uncovering as many speakeasies as he can, and Xiomara is almost certainly singing at a speakeasy to earn some extra money. She sighs internally, knowing that it’s going to take a lot to convince her mother to give it up. But give it up, Xiomara must, or she’ll run the risk of getting entangled in that illicit mess. How did her mother get into this situation in the first place?

“Are you thinking about one of your stories?” Michael asks as he goes to kiss her goodbye a little while later.

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been distracted all night.”

One thing Jane knows for sure is that she can’t bring Michael into this. With his job--especially with his new assignment--he’d be obligated to bring Xiomara in for questioning if he suspected her of engaging with criminal types.

“Oh. Yes, yes I am. I’ve hit a wall and I’m trying to figure out how to get around it.” She doesn’t like lying to Michael, but it feels justifiable.

“You’ll figure it out.” He gives her a quick kiss. “I have to go. Got an early start tomorrow. Are we still on for our movie night on Saturday?”

“Of course,” she says, returning the kiss.

It’s Friday before Jane has an opportunity to shadow her mother’s movements. In the morning Xiomara makes a comment about staying late at the hotel to Alba when Jane isn’t in the room. It is purely by accident that Jane overhears it, if by “accident” she means that she was totally eavesdropping in case something like this was revealed. But God helps those who help themselves, and God surely doesn’t want Xiomara to get thrown into jail. The long and the short of it is that Xiomara is planning on going to her singing gig tonight and Jane is going to be there to follow her when she leaves the Marbella.

After her own shift concludes, Jane stakes out a spot in a cafe near the Marbella. It’s fortuitously placed so she can watch anyone who exits from either the front or back doors. She’s brought a book along to pass the time, although she doesn’t do a very good job of paying attention to its contents. Jane keeps jerking her head up every couple of minutes, sure that she’s missed Xiomara and that her plan’s been ruined.

She sits there through the ebb of people leaving their homes and jobs for a night out on the town, worrying that her mother will get lost in the sea of New Yorkers. She’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t register the faces of the businessmen or the street sweepers or the bootblacks or the newsies or the maids or the flower sellers. Her focus is entirely centered on the Marbella, and the only face she wants to see is that of her mother.

Finally— _finally_ —Xiomara leaves from the back entrance. She’s wearing the same clothes she was wearing when she left the apartment this morning. Her costume must be inside her bag. The sun has already set, although there’s so much electric light flooding out from each individual building that visibility isn’t a problem. Jane leaves a couple coins on the cafe table and follows at a safe distance. The streets Xiomara turns down aren’t as well-lit or as well-kept as the ones directly in front of and adjacent to the Marbella. Or perhaps Jane is just biased because she knows where they’re both heading and she wants her surroundings to fit in with her preconceived notions of what a neighborhood hiding a speakeasy should look like.

Xiomara turns into a building confidently, opening the door as bold as you please. Jane frowns, watching her from around a corner. Weren’t these kind of establishments supposed to be cloaked in secrecy? If anyone could just waltz right in, what was to keep the police from finding it? Every second she spends overthinking the situation is another second her mother could get caught fraternizing with undesirables.

Wincing at the squeak of the hinges, Jane opens the door. There is nothing inside. Quite literally nothing. The store that Jane is standing in—that her mother led her to—is an empty one. Judging by the shelves that line the walls, it might have been a milliner or something at some point. Not for ages, though. Dust sits heavily on every surface except, curiously, the floor.

It’s a front, obviously. The real entrance to the speakeasy must be somewhere within the confines of the shop, but Jane doesn’t want to go poking around without some indication of what she’s going to get herself into. There’s bound to be a password or a secret knock or—

The door swings open again and Jane dodges into the window alcove. She needn’t have hidden herself, though, because the group that just came in is loud and boisterous and smells like they’ve already hit half a dozen blind pigs tonight despite the early hour. On a cursory count, Jane sees eight people altogether. Despite their zozzled state and the slightly disheveled condition of their clothing, they are obviously moneyed.

“Charles!” a woman cries. “Charles, you said that this one is the best in the neighborhood!”

“It is, Donna.” Charles must be the harried (but still amiable)-looking gentleman herding the group along.

“It certainly doesn’t look it,” titters someone near the middle.

“The entrance to Red Spade is much more elegant.”

“Really? I find all those pillars gauche.”

“‘Scuse me, please.”

Charles pushes to the front of the group. He steps behind the dusty counter and makes his way past the heavy velvet curtain that is draped over a doorway. The rest of the group follows dutifully, although there is still more drunken giggling and stumbling. Jane quietly slips behind the final person, hoping that she will be able to use them as a cover to get inside. At the end of the hallway are three doors. Charles stands in front of them, stroking his pencil mustache, before lumbering forward and cracking his knuckles against the one on the very left. He taps out a quick, staccato beat that Jane couldn’t have remembered in a million years.

The door doesn’t move.

“Charles,” whines a man to his right. “You said—”

“Chuck it, Timothy,” Charles says brightly. “I know what I’m about.” He raises his voice and addresses the door. “I’ve come for Aunt Fanny’s wake.”

The door swings open, revealing a burly doorman in shirtsleeves. The doorman steps out of the way, allowing the group to pass. Jane holds her breath as she walks past him, but he takes no notice of her, just closes the door behind her and resumes his post.

It smells like a distillery even before Jane can see the speakeasy proper. She follows the pleasure-seekers down the dark staircase, the din of a large crowd of people getting louder and louder as the smell of the alcohol gets stronger and stronger.

Another sound sails above the racket of the speakeasy, one that Jane could recognize in her sleep. She’s been hearing it since she was little, since before she was born.

“I’ll build a stairway to Paradise with a new step every day,” Xiomara croons, accompanied by a jazz band.

She sounds fantastic and as Jane stumbles onto the level floor she can see that Xiomara looks absolutely stunning standing up on the small stage with the lights hitting her just right. Jane is overcome with pride for a few moments before remembering where she is. She shakes her head. It’s wonderful that Xiomara is finally getting recognized for her talent (and monetarily too!) but the whole situation is too risky for her to continue.

Storming onstage in the middle of a number would not go over very well with either Xiomara (or the audience who seem to be enjoying her singing quite a lot), so Jane finds a spot to lay low until she can have a private word with her mother. Surely the owners won’t let their talent sing for hours and hours with no respite. Keeping her back to the wall, Jane edges around the couples who are dancing and arguing and laughing, most of them clutching a drink in their hand. Once she’s found somewhere that still affords her a good view of the stage but also keeps her away from most of the speakeasy’s patrons, Jane takes the opportunity to look around.

The crowd is a mix of the upper, middle, and lower classes, mostly white, but with a dozen black and brown faces thrown in. The white folks are too busy imbibing as much alcohol as they possibly can to be bothered by the fact that the music they’re enjoying is being provided by a Latina woman and an all black band. The other Latinos and black people can’t afford not to notice this small crumb of representation and they are the ones who cheer the loudest when Xiomara brings the song to a close. She bows, gestures to the band so they take a bow as well, and jumps right into the next song. Jane sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

A few songs later, Jane is shifting her weight from one foot to the other when she sees a familiar face across the room. It can’t be. She cranes her neck, trying to see past a couple that seems to be intent on becoming one entity right there on the dance floor. For the love of—

They shift, hopefully to go somewhere more private, and there she is.

Miss Andel, arguing with a man a foot and a half taller than her. Unlike the rest of the customers, who are dressed in finery that corresponds with their social class, Miss Andel is dressed simply in a black skirt and white shirtwaist. She doesn’t look like someone who’s here for a cup of coffin varnish to help her forget her troubles.

Jane is itching to know what she’s doing here. She shoots a glance at her mother, who doesn’t appear to be winding down in the slightest, and begins making her way across the room.

 

+++++

 

“What do you mean we’re running low?” Petra demands of Jovan. “I placed an order for four crates two days ago! It should have been delivered by this morning at the very latest.”

“I know, but it did not come.”

“Did you try calling Needle to get it sorted?”

“No, I—”

“No, of course not.” Petra cuts him off. “Because that would be too much to ask of you, wouldn’t it? It’s too much to ask for you to do your damn job!”

She runs a hand through her hair, which has become unmanageable in the humidity produced by one hundred bodies in such close proximity. She can feel her curls going limp. The nerve of Needle to not deliver when he said he would. The nerve of Jovan to call her down here when he knows very well that her visits to The Gem have to be sporadic at best.

“I will go call Needle,” she says, making herself sound calmer than she feels. “And you will go tell the bartenders to only fill the glasses halfway from here on out. We’ve got to make sure our stock lasts the night at the very least. Tell them it’s the new trend or some nonsense. Half of them will be too drunk to care. If anyone has kittens over it, threaten to throw them out. And Jovan?”

“Yes?”

“If you manage to bungle anything else, Milos will hear about it.”

Despite his imposing physique and scar-covered face, Jovan blanches as easily as a child. He hurries away. Petra makes her way up the other set of back stairs and opens a cupboard to reveal the telephone that she had had installed there when The Gem was first started. Picks up the receiver, spins the rotary dial. As soon as the call is patched through, she hears a beery voice on the other side.

“‘Lo?” He speaks as little as possible in case the police have finally got a hold of his number.

“Needle, it’s Gemstone,” snaps Petra impatiently. “What’s the big idea? Where’s my product, you great lummox?”

“Gemstone?” Needle is still cautious, but for an entirely different reason now. “I dropped off your order yesterday.”

“Is that so? Who was there when you delivered it?”

“One of those big fellas.”

Petra drummed her fingers against the ancient cupboard doors. One of the (many) inconvenient things about running a speakeasy is that you can’t use paperwork to verify anything. If something like this had happened at the Marbella, all she would have to do is go through the delivery logs and see who had signed for it. Now she’s being asked to trust the words of a bootlegger.

Which she isn’t going to do. Petra Andel isn’t in the business of trusting people.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Needle. You’re going to get off of your disease-ridden buttocks and bring me four replacement cases free of charge since I already paid for the other four. And you’re going to bring them here in twenty minutes or I’ll find another supplier after my boys have rearranged your face. Understood?”

“I’ll go load up my truck right now,” Needle grumbles. “But I really did deliver—”

“Good man,” Petra says, cutting him off, and rings off.

Now to go down to the stock room and stand imposingly in the doorway, glaring at her wristwatch so that when Needle shows up he can feel the full weight of her wrath. Petra climbs back down the stairs and wades through the crowd of customers, pleased that at least her choice of entertainment seems to be working out.

She’s just slipped through the door that leads to the stock room—she’s met by nothing but an almost-empty crate—when a voice comes from behind her.

“Miss Andel?”

Petra barely stops herself from jumping. Apart from not expecting anyone to follow her inside, no one down here should know her real name. She whirls around on her heel to see a plainly dressed girl with brown hair, brown eyes, and a very, very determined expression on her face. Something rings in the back of Petra’s head, telling her that she should probably recognize this face, but she can’t immediately place it.

“Yes?”

“Are you the one who hired Xiomara to sing?”

It’s a direct question and Petra doesn’t know where it’s headed. She replies cautiously, “Who wants to know?”

“I do. It’s illegal what you’re doing down here and my mother never should have gotten involved.”

“Your mother?” Something clicks and Petra realizes where she recognizes the girl from. She must work at the hotel, like Xiomara. Something else clicks. “Hold on, you’re her daughter? The one who’s being courted by a cop?”

Now it’s Miss Villanueva’s turn to be caught off guard. “She told you about that?”

“Listen, as much as I’d love to discuss your family dynamics, I’m busy. If you have a problem with what your mother is doing, I would suggest taking it up with her.”

“I would, but she always turns the conversation around and—”

“Fascinating. Where the hell is Jovan?” He’s supposed to be in charge of making sure that no unauthorized persons entered the stock room.

“I need you to fire her!” Xiomara’s daughter bursts, not willing to go quietly.

Petra blinks at her. She had assumed that a quick brush off would be all she needed to get rid of this pest. She should have taken the girl’s determined expression more seriously. Time to get serious.

“Fire her? She’s the best thing to happen to this joint since it opened. Have you heard her sing? Not to mention there aren’t very many other establishments that feature live musical entertainment. It’s called a competitive edge, my dear, and I’d like to keep it. As long as she keeps singing, my profits keep going up. And as long as my profits keep going up, I can keep paying your mother handsomely. And if I keep paying your mother handsomely, eventually you’ll become rich enough that the police won’t give two figs about whether or not you’re involved in criminal activity. Everyone wins.” Petra flashes a fake smile. “So if you’ll just excuse me—”

Just as she’s about to exit the other door in the stock room—because really, Needle should be here any minute and she needs to impress upon him just how inconvenient his shoddy performance has been—Miss Villanueva tries one last tactic.

“Does Mr. Solano know that you’re doing this?”

Petra’s blood runs cold. She wouldn’t dare.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Jane.”

“Are you threatening me, Jane?”

Petra keeps her voice level as she approaches her. Jane stands her ground, widening her stance imperceptibly.

“I’m just letting you know that if you don’t let my mother go, I’ll have to tell your fiancé what you’re doing.”

“I’m not holding your mother hostage. I am employing her. She entered into this job of her own free will and can leave at any time she chooses.”

“She doesn’t always make the best decisions,” Jane says grimly.

A pang of sympathy cuts across Petra’s heart briefly. But only briefly.

“I can’t help you,” she says dismissively. “Go home to your fella and forget you ever came here.”

“I’ll tell Mr. Solano,” Jane threatens.

“I’ll fire you and your mother from working at the hotel before you can even get up to Rafael’s suite,” Petra snarls. “And then who will he believe? The bitter former employee? Or the indispensable fiancée?”

Petra’s bluffing. If Rafael gets even a slight hint that she’s running something like this on the side, he will dissolve their engagement before he gets conclusive evidence that she’s in the wrong. As long as Petra appears as a demure wife-to-be, Mr. Emilio Solano will be on her side. But if she gives him any excuse, his favor will switch just like that and once that is gone, Rafael will be glad to be shut of her. His father’s favor is all that is standing between Petra and the curb.

The walls of the stock room vibrate and Petra knows that Needle has parked his truck in the alleyway out back. He should be down here in a minute or so with the first crate, and she has to be completely composed by the time he does.

“Your choice, Miss Villanueva,” Petra says with exaggerated politeness. “Go home. Think it over.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to wait for my mother to finish her set and try to talk some sense into her.” Jane perches on the edge of the almost-empty crate and crosses her arms.

Petra glances at the watch’s face. It has now been twenty-one minutes since her call to Needle. She’ll deal with this mess when she’s finished supervising the delivery of her product. Jane’s threats are dangerous, but they aren’t Petra’s most pressing concern right now.

“All right, but if you cause any trouble—”

A loud thump sounds at the door leading to the outside. It doesn’t sound like a knock, though. It sounds as though something quite heavy has been set down right outside. Probably Needle setting down one of the crates so he can have his hands free to knock.

Petra’s precise Swiss watch ticks away each second until a full minute has passed. The knock doesn’t come.

“For heaven’s sake,” Petra says, rolling her eyes as she moves to open the door for him.

She pulls on the handle and the door swings open much more easily than normal, as if it’s being pushed from the other side.

And there’s Needle.

Lying in a heap at Petra’s feet.

His eyes glossy.

His throat covered in brilliant red blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's murder time!


	4. Chapter 4

Jane’s first instinct is to scream.

What else is one supposed to do when a dead body falls to the feet of one’s employer’s fiancée? It seems the practical, if slightly obvious and cliché, choice.

So she does.

In a trice, Miss Andel has crossed the space between them and firmly clamped a hand down over Jane’s mouth.

“Don’t scream!” she hisses. “If you scream then people will hear you and if they hear you they’ll come looking and if they come looking they’ll find _him_ and if they find him there’ll be a panic and if there’s a panic then everyone will leave and if everyone leaves no one will come back because this establishment will be branded as a murder spot. So don’t. Scream.”

As horrified as Jane is at the sight of the man who is still bleeding out on the stone floor, she can’t help but be struck (and annoyed) by how singularly-minded Miss Andel is. Her heart must be forged from ice.

“I’m going to take my hand away now,” she continues.

She does so and Jane turns away from the sight of the man.

“If you’re going to be sick, do it in one of the corners of the room,” Miss Andel says. “But if your stomach can stand it, I need you to go get Jovan.”

“What?”

“Jovan. Big fellow, broad, lots of scars.”

Jane resents being treated like a servant when she’s certainly not getting paid for this whole nightmarish experience.

“Why don’t you do it?” she fires back.

“Because I’m going to go see if any of Needle’s goods are still out there,” Miss Andel returns. “And since you’re going to be on your way anyway, you might as well drop off a message to him for me.”

“You’re going to what?” Jane is floored by Miss Andel’s tenacity. “You can’t do that! What if whoever did that—” she swallows and nods at the corpse shakily “—is still out there?”

“It’s no concern of yours. Besides,” Miss Andel’s lips quirk, “if I die in a gruesome fashion as well, you’ll have a much simpler time convincing your mother to give up her career of singing in speakeasies.”

Her voice is light and casual, but when she raises her hands to shoo Jane away, Jane notices that they’re trembling.

Miss Andel notices too.

“Go,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back.

“Fine,” Jane replies. “After I’ve fetched Jovan, where’s the nearest telephone? I’ll ring the police and—”

“No police!”

“Someone was just murdered!”

“A bootlegger, Jane,” Miss Andel says. “This man is my supplier. What he’s doing is illegal. And as you pointed out earlier, what I’m doing is illegal.” She crouches down next to him and begins shifting his baggy sweater vest. As she tugs it up his torso, a real challenge as his body looks heavy as anything, she speaks in short bursts. “It’s not—a crime—if the person who’s been murdered—is already a criminal.” The sweater vest makes it as far as the man’s neck, where she uses it to cover the wound and head. “Besides, what are you going to say? ‘Oh, hello, Officer Sweetheart, I was at a speakeasy tonight when there was a murder. You’d better come straight away.’ I’m sure that would go over very well indeed.”

“I would explain the whole situation to Michael. He would understand.”

“Sure, he’d let you off the hook because you were just here looking for your mother, but would he do the same for your mother? She knew what she was getting into.”

“Yes,” Jane says with minimal hesitation.

“It’s good to know that we’ve got such unbiased men protecting our streets,” Miss Andel says dryly. “In any case, that doesn’t do anything for me and my situation, so you can forget about calling the cops.” She gives an experimental tug at Needle’s body, trying to see if she can move him by herself. He only moves a hair’s width. She gives up the idea and stands back up. “Go get Jovan. Or I’ll do it myself.”

“You have to call the police.”

“No, I really don’t.” And without further ado, she steps over Needle’s corpse and begins walking out the door that he fell through.

It takes Jane thirty seconds for her conscience to tell her that she can’t very well let Miss Andel go up the dark ramp by herself. Just what Jane is supposed to do if the murderer is indeed still up there is beyond her. Her conscience is being cursed by the rest of her body, which shudders as she follows Miss Andel’s suit and steps over the corpse. The sweater vest does nothing to stop the rusty scent of blood from filling Jane’s nostrils.

It’s dark in the ramp and Jane only finds Miss Andel by the glow of her white shirtwaist. Miss Andel ignores Jane’s presence. When they get to what looks like a dead end, she pushes on the wall, which swings open to the alleyway out back. Jane looks around the alley for signs of ruffians or thugs. There aren’t any that she can see, but she still stays sheltered behind the brick walls. A truck is idling just to the right, belching exhaust out of its tailpipe. The back doors are wide open and even from her position Jane can see what’s inside.

Nothing.

 

+++++

 

“Damn,” Petra breathes. “Damn damn damn.”

She takes a turn around the truck, checking for God-knows-what—a single bottle of moonshine? some sign of who did this?—and when she gets back to her starting point, Petra goes back inside.

How disappointing. And on a Friday as well, most inconvenient. Other bootleggers are bound to be busy with other orders already. Perhaps if she spends all day Saturday sending messages through her network, something will come up. Nothing of such high quality as Needle’s booze and not for nearly as good a price, but something that will keep her customers happy until she can figure something more permanent out.

She pretends that Needle’s body is a lump of dirty laundry when she steps over it once more. If she takes a minute to process what’s happened, it will all start getting blurry again and she needs to be sharp.

Her first priority is getting rid of Needle. Second, she has to get rid of Jane. Not in the same way, of course. She’ll need to get Jovan to help her get Needle back out to his truck and then have Jovan drive it out of town or into the river. His body will be found eventually, that can’t be helped, but there will be nothing that ties it back to The Gem or Petra.

As for Jane… Petra sneaks a glance at the girl, whose face is pale and whose eyes are terrified.

“Would you like one of my men to give you a lift home?” Petra asks her. She has to play this carefully if she wants Jane to trust her.

“No, Miss Andel, that’s not—”

“Please, call me Petra. And it’s the least I can do after supplying you with such a traumatic evening. If you’d like, I can take you to a private room where you can wait until your mother is done before you leave.”

“No, I think I should probably go right away.”

“I agree. I’ll go get Jovan and we’ll put this whole thing behind us.”

“Miss Andel?” Jane says as Petra’s just about to leave the stock room.

“Yes?”

“I’m still going to call the police.”

“I know.”

Petra finds Jovan chatting up a thoroughly soused flapper and pulls him away.

“We’ve got an emergency,” she says. She tells him the plan and he collects the necessary supplies before following her back to where she’d left Jane and Needle. The rest of the revelers are completely oblivious to the dramatic events going on not twenty feet away.

When Jovan shoves a gag in Jane’s mouth and puts a black hood over her head, Petra feels a pang of regret. Jane doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment—she was just trying to look after her mother, something that Petra understands. But Jane’s feelings aren’t as big a priority as the future of The Gem, so Petra pushes down the regret and keeps moving.

She leads Jane up the ramp—Jane is fighting remarkably little for someone with so much spirit and Petra wonders if she has pushed Jane past the breaking point—and guides her into the cab of the truck while Jovan picks up Needle’s body from the floor. There is a creak as Jovan sets the corpse down back in the bed and swings the doors shut. With a grunt, he hauls himself up into the cab and shifts the truck into gear.

“Take her back to the street above the Marbella,” Petra yells at him through the window over the sound of the engine. “Do that first and then dump the body. And for God’s sake, Jovan, don’t let anyone see you!”

As she watches the truck rumble away, Petra hopes it’s enough. She hopes that Jane won’t remember how to get back to the speakeasy even if she does call the police. All they’ll have is a vague location. Petra was very careful not to tell Jane the name of the joint, even in passing.

Of course, Jane does know the name of the speakeasy’s proprietor.

She massages her temples.

Some further orchestration might be in order.

 

+++++

 

There have been precisely two instances in Jane Gloriana Villanueva’s life where she was convinced that she was going to die. Once was when she got the Spanish influenza in 1918 and was so weak that she thought she could hear God’s angels singing as she approached the pearly gates. The other time is now. If she didn’t have the gag in her mouth, she would be begging for her life. It’s dark and she knows that she’s in the murdered man’s truck and she isn’t sure that the driver won’t kill her, too, just to keep her from talking. If not for the gag, Jane would be bargaining away everything she could possibly think of to spare her life—she’d keep mum about the speakeasy, she’d give up her savings for university, she would have even agreed to work in the speakeasy free of charge for the rest of her life as long as she had a life to live.

After an eternity, the truck sputters to a halt and the driver’s side door opens. Jane prays to every saint she can think of to help her get out of this. Her door opens just as she’s making fervent supplication to Saint Jude.

“Out.”

She stumbles out of the cab and immediately cowers as far away from the voice as she possibly can. She braces herself for the inevitable blow.

It never comes.

The hood is whipped off her head and she squints against the faint light of the streetlamp some twenty feet away. The gag is removed as well. The man Petra had brought into the stock room—was his name Jovan?—holds the hood and the gag in his hands and jerks his head towards the main road.

“Go.”

“You’re not going to kill me?” she asks, her tongue feeling thick.

He doesn’t answer, just heads back towards the driver’s side of the truck. Before starting the engine again, he meets her eyes and presses a finger to his lips. The message is clear.

Keep quiet.

The truck drives away, leaving a confused, terrified Jane in its wake. She falls back against the wall and tries to slow her breathing. Inhale. She’s not dead. Exhale. She’s not dead. Inhale. She’s not dead. Exhale. She’s not dead.

But that man is. The one who had been in the stock room, in the basement of that building. His throat had been cut and his eyes had been vacant and glassy and horrible and what was even more horrible was the way Petra had just covered up his face and insisted that no one needed to know about it.

Jane begins walking quickly in the direction Jovan had pointed her in. She comes to the corner of the street and looks up and down, trying to get her bearings. She’s not too far from the Marbella. A couple of shops are still open at this hour and Jane could go inside and use one of their telephones to call the police. She could walk to the precinct where Michael works and tell him about it in person.

Yes. Her feet move her forward as if by themselves. Michael. She’s going to go find Michael and he’s going to help her out of this awful nightmare.

She makes it another half block when two things happen simultaneously. The church bells chime, letting her know that it’s midnight, and she collides with a beat cop headfirst.

“Whoa there,” he says, steadying her. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Jane almost opens her mouth to tell him precisely where she’s going when it hits her that if this man is out and about doing his police business, Michael is probably doing the same thing. Even if she does get to the precinct, it’s unlikely that he’ll be there. And she can’t report the murder to anyone but him because she’ll get thrown into jail for even mentioning the word “speakeasy.”

“Home,” she says at last, defeated. “I’m on my way home from work.”

“Well hurry along then,” he says patronizingly. “There are lots of unsavory folks about.”

The look he gives her clearly indicates that she is one of the unsavory folks of which he was speaking. Jane quickly makes her way back home without running into anyone else. She gets catcalled by a group of white men, but keeps her head down and pretends she doesn’t hear them.

Abuela is already asleep by the time Jane gets home. She’s sitting up in the front room, dozing on their well-loved armchair, having clearly made an effort to stay up and wait for Jane and Xo. Jane gently eases Abuela up and leads her into her bedroom. Then Jane goes back out to the front room and takes up Abuela’s position. As soon as Xiomara gets in, they’re going to have a chat.

“Jane?”

It's hours later. Abuela is softly shaking Jane’s shoulder. Jane sits up, unaware that she’d even fallen asleep. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and tries to work out the kink in her neck.

“ _Dónde está tu madre_?” Abuela asks.

“She didn’t come home?”

“No.” Abuela fixes Jane with a serious look. “I think that there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

“Abuela…” Jane can’t tell her about Xo’s gig at the speakeasy. She would die of shame.

“Tell me the truth. Does your mother have another lover?”

That depends, Jane thinks. Would it be more shameful for Alba to be reminded of the fact that her unwed daughter is engaging in extramarital activities? Or more shameful for her to be told that Xo is going against the law and performing in a booze joint? Or should Jane stick to the story that Xo is performing at the Marbella?

Jane’s mind clears the last of the sleepy fog away and she realizes the full extent of what Abuela has told her. Xiomara didn’t return home from the speakeasy last night. It is entirely possible that Xo went home with one of the bar’s patrons. It’s happened before, but not when she was working at the speakeasy. And especially not on a night where a murder took place and the establishment’s owner had had Jane gagged and blindfolded and sent on her way. After all, Petra knows Jane’s connection to Xiomara...

“I don’t think so,” says Jane in answer to the question about Xo having a lover. “But I think I know someone who knows where she is.”

Which is how Jane finds herself walking into the Marbella on a Saturday morning, determined to speak with Petra Andel. She takes the elevator up and hammers on Petra’s door.

“Miss Andel!” she yells. “Miss Andel, if you don’t open this door this very instant I’m going to—”

She had hoped that by the time she got to the point of that sentence she’d have a weighty enough threat to sling at Petra or that the door would fly open and Miss Andel would tell her to cease her racket, but to no avail.

Dispensing with the verbal attacks, Jane knocks and knocks until her knuckles get sore. She heads back towards the elevator, where the operator informs her that Miss Andel has been out of the hotel on personal errands all morning. This does not deter Jane in the slightest. She marches back to Petra’s office and parks herself right in front of the door.

Petra finally comes back well after one.

“Oh, hello, Jane,” she says, flashing a tight smile. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Where’s my mother?” Jane demands.

“Come inside my office, won’t you?”

“Miss Andel—”

“I heard you,” Petra returns coolly. “But this is business I would rather not discuss out in the open like this.”

“This isn’t business!”

Petra ushers her inside her impersonal office and shuts the door tightly. She sits down at her desk, folds her hands on the desktop, fixes Jane with what is supposed to be an intimidating stare. Jane glares right back at her, finished with yelling. She’s going to make Petra speak first. She’s going to make Petra break.

“Your mother is being taken care of,” Petra finally relents.

“Is she still alive?” Jane shoots.

Petra’s expression is briefly ruffled by a wave of confusion. “Yes, of course. Honestly, Jane, I’m a business owner, not a monster.”

“You _kidnapped my mother_. God knows where she is right now—bound and gagged in that hellhole you call a business,” Jane seethes.

Petra ignores this last intended barb and picks up the receiver of her telephone on her desk. She gives a quick succession of instructions, then hangs it back up.

“Where is she?”

“Before I answer that, we need to have a discussion,” Petra says. “Specifically, I need to know for certain that you aren’t going to go to the police to inform them of either my establishment’s existence or the unfortunate incident of last night.”

“Someone was murdered, Miss Andel.”

“It’s not a police matter.”

“It is when you’ve kidnapped my mother, too.”

“If you’re so sure that I’ve kidnapped your mother, why haven’t you gone to the police yet? Is it perhaps because your mother who has been working at my illegal business and you know that she would get in trouble too? And, for the record, I haven’t kidnapped her.”

“No? I’m sure the police would disagree.”

A knock comes at the door.

“Come in,” Petra calls.

Xiomara, dressed in a fluffy white robe and looking pathetically hungover, shuffles into the office. She squints against the bright light that is streaming through the windows and it takes her a minute to register Jane’s presence. Petra slips out of the room, leaving the mother and daughter alone.

“What are you doing here?” Xiomara asks.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Jane fires back. “You didn’t come home last night! Abuela and I were worried sick! And I had to lie to Abuela and tell her that I didn’t know where you were last night when, in fact, I do!”

“Jane, honey—” Xiomara starts.

“This isn’t like all the other times you’ve done something heedless! This isn’t just stupid, it’s illegal. And it’s not just illegal, it’s dangerous. A bootlegger was killed last night right inside the bar, Ma! Did your new boss tell you that?”

“What? No! She just offered to let me stay at the Marbella free of charge because we closed so late last night.” Xiomara’s dark eyes widen. “There was a murder?”

Jane briefly explains all of the happenings last night, hoping that it will finally convince her mother to give up her second job.

“Petra’s right, Jane,” Xiomara says. “You can’t go to the police.”

“Ma!”

“No, listen to me. I know I joke about Michael getting us out of trouble if we ever need him to, but it’s not fair to put him in that kind of situation where he has to choose between us or his honor.”

“What if I don’t tell him about you?” Jane says desperately. “What if I leave out the part that I followed you there? I’ll just tell him that I was at the speakeasy to cut loose and happened to be privy to the aftereffects of the murder.”

Xiomara snorts. “He’s not going to believe you. You’ve never cut loose in your life, and he knows that.”

Fine. Jane will come back to the murder at a later time. She refocuses on her original task.

“You have to stop singing there, Ma.”

“Are you crazy? I’m raking in the clams there! And you know I’ve always dreamed of getting paid to sing. And the more money I make, the more money I can contribute to your university fund.”

Jane chews her lip. The comment about Jane’s university fund was an easy hit, even though Xiomara knows Jane would rather take longer to save up than use ill-gotten money. Still, it has been nice to have the extra income. While the Villanuevas are not destitute, they could stand to have a few more dollars to spend on clothes and food.

“I think I have a compromise.”

 

+++++

 

Petra loiters outside of her own office, waiting for the conflict between mother and daughter to die down before re-entering. Much as she’d like to stay appraised of how the conversation is going, it would be poor form to press her ear to the door like a common gumshoe. Besides, she’s been involved in a terse mother-daughter relationship long enough to know the gist of what’s being said.

She’s beginning to think that she should have made Jane and Xiomara talk in Xiomara’s suite so that she could get some work done while they gabbed when Jane opens the door.

“That was quick,” she remarks. “Have you come to a consensus?”

“Please, sit down,” Jane says. Once Petra is situated, she begins. “My mother will not be working at your speakeasy anymore.”

“In exchange for you not going to the police?” Petra says.

“Exactly.”

“Fine.” Immediately Petra’s mind begins compiling a list of possible singers to head up the band. One of the maids who cleans the penthouse suites was humming the other day, Petra wonders if she could be prevailed upon to audition. She isn’t nearly as good-looking as Xiomara—because, let’s be honest, appearance matters as much as sound in that kind of setting—but perhaps with a bit of rouge...

“And in exchange for not telling Mr. Solano about your side business, you’re going to let her sing at the Marbella.”

Petra addresses her next comment directly to Xiomara, “It won’t be nearly as lucrative as singing at my place. The crowd will be entirely different, and the reason they tip so well is because they’re zozzled.”

“Getting paid to sing is getting paid to sing,” Xiomara says, although she doesn’t look as though she’s thrilled about the change.

“All right,” Petra says. “You keep your mouth shut, and Xiomara gets a contract here at the Marbella. Are you satisfied?”

“For now,” says Jane, standing up. “Now if you’ll excuse us, my mother and I have places to be. Goodbye, Miss Andel.”

“Goodbye, Petra,” says Xiomara.

Petra pretends to be busy until they’ve exited the room. As soon as they’re gone, she puts down her pen and cracks a smile. She should be livid. Finding a new singer is going to be tough work, almost as tough as finding a new supplier, which she still hasn’t found. And there’s the fact that she’s going to have to convince both Raf and Mr. Solano that the Marbella needs to add an amateur singer to its deck.

And yet…

Her strained relationship with Jane Villanueva is the most interesting thing to have happened to her for a while.

She finds herself looking forward to their next encounter.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Michael cancels their weekly date, putting a cap on Jane’s terrible past twenty-four hours. True, it would have been hard for her to keep the murder of that bootlegger a secret for the entire night, but she has been looking forward to his comforting presence all day. He shows up at the Villanueva apartment an hour earlier than their usual time and Jane can tell something is wrong by the way he’s standing.

“Are you ready to go see _Oliver Twist_?” she asks hopefully.

“I’m going to have to take a raincheck,” he says, his expression glum. “Something came up at the precinct and we’ve all got to work until we’ve got it sorted out. But I promise that we’ll go soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

So Jane spends the night at home with Abuela, which isn’t unpleasant by any means. It’s just that doing some mending with one’s abuela can hardly compete with seeing Lon Chaney as Fagin with the love of one’s life. Xiomara is at home as well, not having been booked for any gigs at the Marbella yet and under strict instruction (Jane’s instructions) not to get entangled in any other messes. As Jane darns socks she wonders what police business is keeping Michael busy on a Saturday night. Hopefully it’s paperwork. She hopes to high heaven that it’s not about the murder. If Michael were to mention something like it in passing, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep her mouth shut.

The beginning of the next week goes smoothly enough. Jane only has three nightmares about being chased by the police and faceless gangsters, Xiomara is promised her first engagement at the Marbella in a few weeks’ time (“Petra said that she tried to get me an earlier slot, but they’re all booked up. She paid me in advance, though.” Jane grimly thinks that it’s hush money more than anything), and Alba meets a man at church who gives her three free tickets to see _El genio alegre_ at the Princess Theatre.

“Abuela, what happened to theaters being dens of sin?” Jane teases.

“Films and plays are not the same thing,” Alba says primly. “Besides, this is not some story about cowboys or gangsters. It’s about people like us.”

Jane, who has read _El genio alegre_ as it’s one of the only plays in Spanish at the library, thinks that they don’t have very much in common at all with the main characters. First, they are from Andalucía, not Venezuela. Not to mention that Doña Sacramento is a marquess with a beautiful house and they’re living in a shabby, but still cozy, apartment. Jane gets what Abuela means, though. It would be nice to go see a play that was written in Spanish, meant to be watched by a Spanish-speaking audience. It would be good for Abuela, too, who understands spoken English and can read it fairly well but is not nearly as comfortable with it as she is with Spanish.

“He just gave you the tickets?” Xo asks. “Or did you flirt with him a little bit?”

“I would never!” Alba is indignant. “We got talking about the sermon and I began asking him about his life. He said that he is working with Jacino Benavente when I mentioned that I haven’t seen a play in ten years. He was a very generous man.”

“Did he offer to take you to dinner too?” Xo asks.

“Xiomara, he is half my age!”

“Oh, good, then I can try my luck.”

“Xiomara!” Alba raises her hands in a “heaven help me” gesture. “He was only being nice to an old woman, nothing more.”

“You’re not that old, Abuela,” Jane says, giving her a nudge with her hip. “Mr. Emilio Solano has a new doll every week and he’s about your age.”

“Mr. Solano has money and he’s a man. But that is neither here nor there. Xiomara, if I let you come along, do you promise to behave?”

Xo never turns down an opportunity to go to a performance, so she gives her solemn word not to do anything too untoward at the show. She even agrees to wear her most conservative dress. It’s much less conservative than the Sunday dresses that Jane and Alba are wearing, but it’s the thought that counts.

They arrive early to make sure that they get to their seats well before the show starts and are pleasantly surprised to see that Alba’s friend gave them a spot on the second row. As the beautiful theatre begins to fill with other audience members, the Villanueva women ooh and ahh at the lavish red velvet curtain and the intricate molding on the pillars. Soon the lights begin to dim and the curtains go up.

When Don Eligio struts onto the stage, all three of them gasp. They aren’t the only ones either. All of the other women in the audience are struck by his exceptionally handsome appearance, tittering to each other. He practically shines in the glow of the footlights, seeming not to notice their admiration. The other actors are good, of course, but it is Don Eligio’s gusto and energy that make him the focal point of the show. If the women hadn’t been so distracted by his passion and good looks, they might have noticed that he sometimes stepped on the lines of the others and more than once cheated his way in front of one of the supporting actors. Overall it is a wonderful performance and Jane looks forward to talking about it all the way home.

“Don’t you wish you could shake Don Eligio’s hand?” Alba sighs as they wait for the people in front of them to move out into the lobby. “ _Que guapo_! _Que apasionado_!”

“Look!” cries a woman already by the doors.

The actor who had played Don Eligio is standing in the middle of the lobby, flashing his white teeth and making women swoon by placing delicate kisses on their fingers. Alba is almost beside herself with excitement and Jane squeezes her hand. Xiomara, however, immediately begins pushing through the crowd on the fringes.

“Ma!” Jane calls. “Ma, where are you going? Don’t you want to meet him?”

But Xiomara is already gone.

“Should we follow her?”

“Ay, no,” says Alba. “She’ll be fine on her own for a minute.”

So they wait patiently for their turn to say hello to the glamorous actor who doesn’t seem to be getting tired of greeting person after person at all. If anything, he seems to be drawing energy from it.

“You were magnificent!” Alba gushes when it is at last their turn.

“Thank you very much,” he returns in Spanish. “Let me introduce myself: I am Rogelio de la Vega. And you lovely ladies are?”

“I’m Jane and this is my abuela, Alba” Jane says when Alba’s words fail her. “You were fantastic! How long have you been acting?”

“Since I was a little boy when I was plucked up off the street to act in _Little Lord Fauntleroy_. The rest, as they say, is history.” Rogelio de la Vega gives a semi-modest bow.

“Rogelio!” calls a man from on the stairs. “Rogelio, wrap it up! We need to do notes so the rest of us can go home.”

“In a minute,” Rogelio says through a gracious smile.

“If you don’t come right this minute, I’m going to turn your dressing room into an office for Manolo Noriega!”

“ _Sí,_ Señor Navarro. Ladies, I am so sorry to have to run like this.” He takes their hands and places a kiss on each. “It has truly been a pleasure to meet you, Miss...?”

“Villanueva,” Jane says.

A strange look passes over his face, and it looks like Rogelio is going to say something else when Señor Navarro makes an impatient noise. Then he comes to himself and follows his manager up the stairs.

“He was so lovely!” Alba says to Xo, who has been waiting on the sidewalk for them this whole time.

Xiomara makes no response, only starts walking briskly home. It is unusual behavior for her mother, Jane notes, because usually Xo tries to butter up anyone with even a dollop of fame in the hopes that she can use the connection to further her own career. Even if Rogelio hadn’t been famous, he was certainly handsome enough to keep Xo’s attention. The fact that she hadn’t even tried to flirt with him is odd to Jane.

As they round the corner of thirty-ninth street, Jane already has several theories in place. One, her mother’s avoidance of Rogelio de la Vega was a direct result of Xo’s promise not to get up to any funny business at the play. Unusually mature of her mother, but Jane won’t count it out completely. Two, Rogelio is one of Xo’s former lovers, hence the cold shoulder. But Jane had seen her mother with several of her past lovers and there had never been any discomfort on her part there. In fact, there had been a distinct lack of shame as Xo never apologized for any of her affairs. Number two is even more unlikely than number one. And number three, the final and most probable cause, Xiomara is waiting to make her introduction to Rogelio de la Vega until she’s dressed to the nines. She must not have thought her conservative dress would be enough to catch his attention.

Jane shakes her head, partly fond and partly exasperated, and prepares herself for her mother’s excuses to get out of the apartment in the coming weeks.

 

+++++

 

It is not in Petra’s nature to hope for the best. “Prepare for the worst and rarely get unpleasantly surprised” is the Andel family motto. (Well, it’s Petra’s personal motto that she learned from her mother, neither of whom are technically Andels. Andel is the family name they gave to the immigration worker at Ellis Island. By birth they are Antschels, but Magda, her mother, had decided to change their decidedly Jewish names—Malka and Netanya Antschel—to ones that sounded more Catholic while on the boat to America in 1905.  Although Petra was nine at the time, she has to strain to remember ever being called “Netanya” and her Yiddish is abysmal.)

In any case, Petra does whatever she can to rig circumstances in her favor and takes extra precautions when it comes to her more clandestine endeavors. Which is why she is panicked but not _too_ panicked when a detective from the New York Police Department comes to the Marbella and asks to speak with the Solano family. It can’t be about The Gem. She’s been too careful. But if it _is_ about The Gem, she’s got a few tricks up her sleeve, things to divert suspicion and throw attention on someone else.

It’s Rafael who delivers the news.

“There’s an Officer Cordero downstairs who wants to talk to us,” he says, not bothering to enter her office fully.

“Oh?” Petra grips her pen more tightly in her hand. “Did he say what it’s about?”

“No, but it can’t be anything good. He’s asked that Luisa be here, too.”

“Luisa?”

Rafael lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve called her and she’ll be here in five minutes.”

They are interrupted by Emilio. “Has anyone seen Rose?” When both of them deny having seen her in the recent past, Emilio scowls. “That inspector wants to see the whole family and since we’re including fiancées,” a careless look at Petra “that includes Rose.”

“What?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, it’s not official yet, I haven’t been able to get my jeweler to make that custom ring yet, but she’s as good as my fiancée which means she’s as good as family.”

Petra has not planned for this game change. Rather, she had been expecting Mr. Solano to marry Rose, but not so soon. This throws off her whole timeline. She recovers quickly, though. She offers a hearty “Congratulations!” and gives her future father-in-law a kiss on the cheek. Emilio accepts it in an entitled manner.

Rafael is less enthusiastic in his congratulations.

“It’s a little fast, isn’t it, Pops?” he asks, his casual tone doing a terrible job of masking the irritation beneath.

“We don’t all move at a glacial pace, Raf. Some of us see what we want and take it.” Emilio claps his son on the back and begins to head downstairs to meet the detective.

“Why don’t you go entertain our guest?” Petra asks. “I’ll go out front and wait for Luisa to arrive.”

After those two minor setbacks—the arrival of the police and the revelation that Emilio is going to marry Rose—Petra needs to take charge of things again. That starts with intercepting Luisa and making sure that she doesn’t smell like alcohol. In another life, Luisa would be the ideal fall woman. But since Petra met Luisa while Petra was working at one of Milos’s many speakeasies and Luisa isn’t exactly known for being a reliable ally (she’s either very good or very terrible at lying and there’s no way to know which she’s going to be until after the fact), Petra’s got to hedge her bets.

Thankfully Luisa is not drunk when she climbs out of the cab, despite her giddy appearance. Petra goes in for a hug, confirms that Luisa does not reek of booze, and pulls back, trying to figure out why Luisa is so carefree. Then she spots it. A perfect print in sultry red lipstick just below Luisa’s right ear.

“You’ve got a little something on your neck,” Petra says, handing Luisa her handkerchief.

“Thanks, Petra.” Luisa uses a small compact mirror to get a visual on the stain and scrubs it off. “I don’t know how I missed it. I got all cleaned up before coming here, but she must have—”

Petra cuts her off. The din of the street is loud, but it still wouldn’t do for anyone passing by to hear about Miss Luisa Solano’s love life. With everything else that’s going on, the last thing the Solanos need is a scandal.

“Any idea what this is about?” Luisa asks as they walk across the lobby.

“Not a one.”

Luisa lowers her voice. “It couldn’t be about—”

“Have you been careful?”

“Yes!” Petra gives Luisa a hard look. “Well, mostly. You know how things are!”

Petra shakes her head and hisses “Don’t say anything” as she ushers Luisa inside the room where Rafael, Emilio, and Officer Cordero are waiting for them. Emilio must have found Rose because she is sitting there as well, charming the socks off of the detective and his partner. It’s what Petra would have been doing if she hadn’t been attending to other business. A nasty feeling settles in between Petra’s ribs. If Mr. Solano does indeed marry Rose and they decide to stay in New York, this is the sort of thing that Rose will be doing as the senior Mrs. Solano.

But that’s a problem for another day. Officer Cordero is speaking.

“Thank you for giving me your undivided attention,” he says. He’s attractive in a bland, conventional way, not at all dark and handsome like Rafael. (He would fit in at a hoedown, Petra thinks, if hoedowns are actually real. She’s never attended one and has always been doubtful of their existence. It sounds like something country folk would make up to have a laugh at the city slicker’s expense.) “I’m Officer Cordero and this is my assistant, patrolwoman Hansan.” A patrolwoman? Petra eyes her with interest. “I’m here to investigate the connection of a homicide suspect to this hotel.”

At the word “homicide” the Solanos all react appropriately—sharp intakes of breath and disbelieving expressions, closely followed by furrowed brows, eager to show the police that they are sorry and cooperative at the same time.

“A white male of average build in his late thirties was found earlier this week,” Patrolwoman Hansan says.

That isn’t too bad, Petra thinks. That could easily describe thirty percent of the city’s populace. They aren’t necessarily here about Needle’s murder.

“His throat was cut and he had been dumped into the Hudson—”

The possibilities are still open. New York is a violent place.

“—along with his delivery truck,” Officer Cordero finishes. “His face and body had been badly bloated from the water, but we estimate that he’s been dead for about three or four days. Gentlemen,” he nods to Rafael and Emilio, “if you would please step forward to look at this photograph we have—it isn’t suitable for the ladies to see.”

Rafael and Emilio comply and stand there, staring at the photograph for some time until they both eventually shake their heads.

“Never seen him before,” Rafael says. “Or if I have, I don’t recognize him now.”

“What’s his connection with my hotel?” Emilio asks.

That is what Petra would like to know. She’s almost certain now that the body the police found is Needle, but she is stunned that they would be able to trace it back here. Her hands fold and re-fold her handkerchief in her lap.

“We found the address of the Marbella among his personal effects.”

“Didn’t you say that he was found in the river?” Petra can’t help but ask. “Wouldn’t the paper it was written on have gotten wet? Or was the address carved into the side of the truck?”

Officer Cordero gives her a patronizing smile. “Obviously we used the license plate to find the owner and found the address among his personal effects at home.”

Petra returns his smile with a simpering smile of her own, although she’s grinding her teeth. Needle wouldn’t have been stupid enough to use a truck registered to his name. And if he had, he deserved to die. You don’t engage in criminal activity without taking as many precautions as you possibly can. Using a vehicle registered to you to run illegal liquor is a rookie mistake and Petra doesn’t feel sorry for him. Imbecile.

“So you know the victim’s name?” Luisa asks. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

The police officers hem and haw and that’s when Petra knows that the truck wasn’t registered to Needle. However they found the connection to the Marbella, it isn’t as straightforward as they’d tried to make it seem.

“We’re not at liberty to disclose that information at this time,” Officer Cordero says.

Petra isn’t the only one in the room who’s seen through the ruse. Mr. Emilio Solano is checking his watch and shifting his position on his chair.

“What is it we can help you with, then, officer?” he asks. “My son and I have seen the photograph and cannot identify him. You have his name, which you will not divulge so we cannot identify him that way. We would gladly be of service, but unless you give us some idea as to what you need, I’m afraid we won’t be very helpful at all.”

“We would just like to look around the establishment for anything that might shed light on the murder,” Patrolwoman Hansan says.

“By all means.” Emilio is rapidly losing patience with formality. “Unfortunately I can’t give you access to the rooms that are being occupied by our guests, but everywhere else is of course at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solano,” Officer Cordero says. “That’s all we need.”

“Allow me to show you around,” Petra offers.

By accompanying the police officers on their sweep of the hotel, Petra hopes to accomplish two things. First, she needs to assert dominance over Rose as the true hostess of the hotel. Second, she wants to pick up whatever information about the case they happen to drop while talking amongst themselves.

“Thank you. The rest of you are free to return to your business,” Officer Cordero says. “If we have any more questions, we’ll be in touch.”

Emilio and Rafael seem ill at ease with having the police in the hotel, but don’t do anything to dissuade it. Luisa seems bewildered as to why she was called at all, as she has minimal dealings with the hotel. She’s a shareholder, but only barely. And there’s Rose, perched on the edge of her chair, applying a fresh coat of sultry red lipstick that matches the stain on Petra’s handkerchief.

Oh, Luisa…

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to see first?” Petra asks.

“Does this building have a cellar?”

“Of course, we store food down there.”

“Is there a wine cellar?” He tries to keep his voice light, uninterested.

How much more obvious could he get? Now she knows that they’ve connected Needle to bootlegging as well. Petra matches his tone. “Yes, of course, but it hasn’t been in use since Prohibition started. I would be glad to start there if you’d prefer.”

Officer Cordero does prefer and they spend the better part of the afternoon and evening sweeping over the hotel. At times Officer Cordero and Patrolwoman Hansan ask Petra to step outside so they can have a chat about police business, but Petra stays close to the door on those occasions. She finds out that when they raided Needle’s place, they found the home distillery and a book filled with codes, presumably names and addresses of customers. The only thing not in code? The address of the Marbella on a piece of Marbella stationary left on top of the book. Again, Needle would never have been that stupid. And when Petra finds out that the police found Needle’s body and his home from an anonymous tip? She knows she’s being set up.

She’s trying to puzzle out who she’s being set up by when her tour comes to a close. They ask a few more questions, mostly about the Solanos. Does she know of any clandestine parties going on? Has anyone out of the ordinary been staying at the Marbella for extended periods of time as a guest of the Solanos? Has anyone been exhibiting drunken behavior? Luisa has four incidents of drunken and disorderly conduct on her record from back before Prohibition began two years ago. Petra knows this because that is one of the first things Luisa told her when they met in Milos’s speakeasy. This is probably why the police asked for Luisa to be at the meeting specifically. Petra feigns innocence to anything of the sort.

Having gleaned nothing from their conversation with Petra, Officer Cordero and Patrolwoman Hansan ask to be taken to Mr. Solano again before they leave.

“I’m afraid Mr. Solano is at the theatre with Rose and won’t be back until quite late,” Petra says.

“I’ll be back on Monday,” says Officer Cordero. “Did he happen to mention which play he was seeing?”

“No, not to me. Is that pertinent to the case?”

“No, it’s just…” He gives a sheepish grin. “My girl Jane is at the theatre tonight too and I’m kind of looking for a reason to go surprise her while I’m still on the clock.”

“Mmm.” Petra’s mind is elsewhere.

“Oh well, I’ll see her on Monday anyway. She works here. Do you know her? Her name is Jane Villanueva.”

“Jane Villanueva?” Petra echoes, her heart giving a stir. _This_ is Officer Sweetheart? Really? Petra would have never guessed. She would have thought that Jane would be courted by someone much more handsome. Or at least someone with a semblance of an imagination. Officer Cordero is dumb as a post. She responds coolly, “I’ve seen the name on our employment rolls. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to identify her on sight, though.”

“Shucks. She’s a keen girl.”

“Will that be all?” Petra asks.

“For now.” He nods. “Take care. And give us a call if you see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Of course.”

Petra goes up to her suite—heaven knows where Rafael is, probably out at a speakeasy himself—to try to figure out who is setting her up, but ends up wondering what Jane sees in Officer Cordero instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this weirdly specific AU! I'm glad to know I'm not the only one starved for Jetra fic.
> 
> I've never written a historical AU before, so I'm having a lot of fun doing research. Jacino Benavente and Manuel "Manolo" Noriega were real historical figures (a Spanish playwright and a Mexican actor/playwright/director, respectively). El genio alegre really was performed at the Princess Theatre by La Compañia de Teatro Español in the early 1920's.
> 
> Also, I considered making Michael's police partner a man, since I wasn't sure Nadine would have even been able to be a police officer in the early 20th century. But you know what? In 1912 Isabella Goodwin became the first police woman in New York City and in 1921 the Woman's Police Precinct was formed. So is it a stretch to say that a black woman could be Michael's patrolwoman partner? You betcha, but I've decided to pick and choose what facts I ignore and which ones I use.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! Who's setting Petra up? Is Luisa's only secret that she's a lesbian? Or is there something else?
> 
> And as always, please feel free to come drop by my askbox on tumblr. It's usuallyproperlyhydrated.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6

Jane hasn’t seen Michael for what feels like forever, but when she catches a glimpse of him in full police uniform in the Marbella’s lobby on Monday morning, she isn’t eager to greet him. He hasn’t seen her—he’s arguing with the concierge about something—so she keeps her head down and goes about her business.

“Do you know why your fella is here asking questions?” Lina asks when she passes Jane in the kitchen.

Jane shakes her head. “He isn’t allowed to tell me about it.” And part of her hopes he won’t ever tell her about it so she doesn’t have to feel obligated to tell him the truth. At least, not until she’s found another job. She can’t very well tell Michael everything about the murder while the threat of unemployment is looming over her head.

“Mr. Solano says not to trouble yourselves with the presence of the police,” says James sharply. “They haven’t been authorized to ask you questions either. So if anyone with a police badge asks you anything other than where the toilet is, you keep your mouths shut, understood?”

This edict stays in effect for precisely five minutes until Mr. Solano calls an impromptu employee meeting in the hotel’s ballroom. He stands on the stage, flanked by Rose, Rafael, and Petra, as he announces that the police have his permission to ask any questions of the staff that they deem pertinent to their homicide investigation. Michael and Patrolwoman Hansan stand to the side, their eyes scanning the small army of hotel staff members. Michael catches Jane’s eye and he grins. She smiles back weakly, giving him a small wave. Her attention is caught by Petra next, who gives her a severe look. Jane glares back. She hasn’t done anything to harm Petra’s precious reputation—she was merely greeting her sweetheart. That isn’t a crime, unlike a vast majority of Miss Andel’s extracurricular activities.

Once the announcement has been made, Michael and Patrolwoman Hansan begin interrogating staff members. And despite Jane’s most fervent prayers, she is among the first to be picked. She makes eye contact with Petra once again as Michael leads her into a small side room. Petra has struck up a conversation with Xiomara and Jane can feel the threat as clearly as if Petra had spoken it.

“Can you state your name for the record?” Michael asks.

Jane does so and they quickly go over the details of her employment here at the Marbella. Although it’s still the same Michael who brings her flowers and takes her out for walks on sunny afternoons, he’s much more solemn in his detective capacity. She wishes she could take his hand so she could have some semblance of security, but she knows it would be unprofessional.

“Now, Jane, are you aware of any untoward activities taking place at the hotel?”

“At the hotel?” Jane has found a loophole in his wording. It won’t be enough to keep her from going to hell for lying, but it’s enough to reduce some of her guilt by a third. “No.”

“Are you aware of the Solanos being engaged in any criminal activities?”

Technically Petra isn’t a Solano yet. “No.”

“Have you seen anything out of the ordinary lately that you think might be relevant to our investigation?”

There’s no loophole for this one. Jane has seen something out of the ordinary. She’s seen several things out of the ordinary. She can’t even get the single syllable word out past her lips, so she shakes her head.

“I think we’re done here.” Michael stands up and takes Jane out into the hall where he brushes a quick kiss to her lips. “You were great. Don’t worry, this is just a formality. I’ll see you later, all right?”

“All right.”

Guilt eats at her gut and threatens to climb up her throat and out her mouth. While Michael seeks out his next witness, Jane seeks out Petra, who is still standing by Xo.

“We need to talk,” she hisses.

“Not here,” Petra replies casually.

“Then we’ll go up to your office.”

They stand an uncomfortable distance apart in the elevator, Jane grinding her teeth and Petra checking her reflection in the large mirror mounted on the ceiling. The elevator operator acts like he’s not there at all.

“Officer Sweetheart said that you went to see a play over the weekend. How was it?” Petra asks out of nowhere.

If this is a ploy to get Jane to forget how fed up she is with the whole situation, it isn’t working. Jane stares determinedly at the doors and it’s as if Petra hasn’t spoken at all.

Petra clicks her key into the lock of her office door and holds it open for Jane. She barely passes over the threshold herself when Jane lays into her.

“You have to tell the police! There was a murder and I just lied to Michael about my knowledge of it! Not only did I lie to an officer of the law, I lied to a man I love very much!”

Petra’s focus is diverted from Jane’s tirade to something just beyond Jane’s shoulder. And when Petra steps past Jane without so much as a word of apology, Jane is about to explode. She whips around on her heel to see what has Petra so entranced.

There’s a six inch knife with its tip solidly embedded in Petra’s desktop.

A knife with blood caked onto its blade.

As the two women get closer, they see that the knife is holding a single sheet of paper in place. It’s Marbella stationary, the kind that Jane has seen thousands of times in the lobby. The words written on it have been scratched out in red ink so it looks like it’s been written in blood. At least, Jane hopes it only looks like blood.

It reads, _“If your little endeavor continues, I will have no choice but to make your life unpleasant in every way I possibly can. Shut it down. And if one word of this reaches the police, you’ll be joining your mother. S.R.”_

Petra pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and wraps it around the knife’s handle. She pulls at the handle, trying with all her might to dislodge it from the desk.

“Who’s S.R.?” Jane asks.

“I haven’t a clue, but clearly it’s no one I want to tangle with.”

Petra brings up a shaking hand to her forehead to brush her curls away. She tugs and she tugs at the knife but it doesn’t yield. The more she tries, the more frustrated she gets. Jane is torn between running downstairs and getting Michael before the evidence is too badly compromised—because this could logically be the knife that had been used to kill Needle and now it’s going to be used to frame Petra for his murder—and helping Petra get it out.

“Is your mother dead?”

Petra gives a dark chuckle but doesn’t answer yes or no.

“Is that why this S.R. is threatening to send you to be with her?” Jane prods.

“My mother is in Sing Sing, Jane,” Petra says, trying to wiggle the blade. “She’s in Sing Sing for murdering a well-known and well-loved politician. In the middle of the street. In broad daylight.”

Whatever Jane had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Petra gives up on getting the knife out of her desk and collapses back into her chair, raking a hand through her hair. She catches the flummoxed look on Jane’s face and her lips quirk upwards in something between a wry smile and a smirk.

“Not what you were expecting? Here, I’ll tell you all the sordid details. We came to America from Czechoslovakia when I was nine years old, and I played the violin on the streets from dawn until dusk so that my mother and I could eat. Then one day when I was sixteen a man approached my mother on the street and offered to buy me. She was so incensed that she stabbed him in the neck right then and there.”

Despite priding herself on being a woman of many words, Jane is at a complete loss. She’d been so ready to write Petra’s mother off as a lunatic, some crazed murderess who had passed on some of her insanity to her daughter. But knowing that she’d killed a man to protect her daughter? Honestly it was something that Xiomara would do if the opportunity ever arose.

Petra sees the conflict in Jane’s eyes and continues, “Oh, no, don’t worry. My mother is a complete scoundrel. I found out later that it was his low price that had offended my mother’s pride, not the fact that he was offering to buy me at all. If it had been fifty dollars more, I would probably be his kept woman to this day with half a dozen of his bastards crawling around at my feet.”

Who would have thought that the poised, polished Petra had come from such wretched roots? Jane had thought for sure that Petra was the wealthy daughter of some privileged family who had been handed everything she could have possibly wanted from an early age. And now, to know that Petra is an immigrant with a murderer for a mother…

“Why are you telling me this?” Jane asks.

Petra avoids looking at Jane and begins preoccupying herself with the knife again. “Damned if I know.”

If the identity of Petra’s mother were to come out during her trial, there’s no way that the entire jury wouldn’t be biased against her. “Murdering must be in the blood,” they would say with a shrug and condemn her to a lifetime in prison. And for all of Petra’s flaws, she doesn’t deserve to be locked up for a murder she didn’t commit.

Jane wraps her hand around the hand Petra is using to grip the knife’s handle. Petra looks up, startled at the sudden contact. Together they struggle and strain and pull the knife out of the wood. Once it’s been freed, Petra drops it into an empty drawer in her desk. With a much put-upon sigh, she covers up the considerable hole with a blotting pad. The note is burned in the fireplace.

“I should go back to work,” Jane says.

“Yes, of course,” Petra says, distracted.

Jane is just about to leave the room when she turns back around and asks, “Are you going to be all right?”

This question seems to startle Petra even more than the unexpected physical contact between them. It’s as if no one’s ever asked her that before.

“Yes.” Her expression softens the tiniest bit. “I’m just preparing myself to pay a visit to my mother. She should have some idea as to who S.R. is.”

“All right. Be careful.”

 

+++++

 

“Be careful.”

Jane’s words ring in Petra’s ears all the way down to the street and into the cab and out of the city limits and across the river. She knows that Jane meant it in a “don’t do anything stupid that could end badly for you and me” way, just like everyone else in Petra’s life uses it, but she lets herself imagine that Jane meant it in the regular way: “You’re important to me and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

It’s a nice feeling while it lasts.

It dissipates completely when Petra enters the gate into Sing Sing Prison, where she feels nothing but the heaviness of the iron walls around her. She slips some cash to the guard at the front desk when he gives her grief about it not being a visiting day. Soon she is sitting across from her mother in no time at all. It’s marvelous what money can do.

“The guard said that my daughter has come to see me,” Magda says gruffly. “I have no daughter.”

It has been two years since Petra last visited her mother in prison. Before that, she would make frequent trips to see her, spurred on by the guilt that her mother had been incarcerated for protecting her, as well as a strong sense of filial duty. When she had come to announce her engagement to Rafael and Magda had let it slip that she was glad that the politician’s price had been so low because now she would get the money _and_ the prestige, Petra had asked for clarification. Magda had been happy to give it. In her mind, she was still the hero of the story. Her daughter was making an advantageous match and hopefully one day her husband would have enough monetary sway to spring his mother-in-law from the clink. What more could a person want? She’d been flabbergasted when Petra had stormed out of the prison and never returned or sent so much as a telegram.

“You do have a daughter and she’s in a lot of trouble,” Petra says. “What do you know about S.R.?”

Magda throws her head back and lets out a cackle, her greasy hair swinging. “Oh, Petra, Petra, what have you done? Didn’t I tell you to stay close to Milos?”

“I have! And furthermore—”

“No you have not,” Magda says. “If you’d stayed close to Milos, you wouldn’t have gotten into a mess with Sin Rostro.”

“Sin Rostro?” Although she’s never heard the name before, shivers still run down Petra’s spine.

“They call him the faceless criminal because no one has ever seen him and no one ever will.” Magda clicks her tongue. “Oh, Petra, my shit-for-brains daughter. Is a good thing you are so pretty. You would never last in the world with only your wits. What does he want?”

“He wants me—” Petra’s eyes flicker towards the door where a guard is standing by, “He wants me to give up certain…business ventures I’ve made.”

“Then there is no question about it. You must give them up.”

“But mother—!”

“You give them up, I said!” Magda growls. “I did not bring your ungrateful body to America for you to throw your freedom away in a fight with a powerful gangster. You give up those ventures and settle down and pop out some babies for your husband.” Magda’s gaze sweeps over Petra’s left hand. “No wedding band? It has been two years! You haven’t managed to nail him down yet? My shit-for-brains daughter. I will die in here all alone and for what? For my ungrateful, unsuccessful offspring.”

“Can’t you tell me anything more about Sin Rostro?” Petra asks desperately.

“Only that you will lose everything if you oppose him. What more do you need to know?”

Petra would ideally like to know if he’s running operations besides bootlegging and in what areas he’s running speakeasies. Knowing how to get ahold of Sin Rostro would be nice as well, so Petra could see if he’d possibly be open to some sort of partnership. She would do anything to keep The Gem. She needs it in a way she doesn’t expect anyone else to understand. But she knows that if she asks her mother any of these questions, she’ll only be called her shit-for-brains daughter again.

“Well, thank you for that enlightening visit, mother.” Petra stands to leave.

“You go right home and stop this foolishness, Petra. You be careful.”

Cringing, Petra leaves her mother behind in the cold room where she’s handcuffed to the table. She slips the guard at the front desk a little more money and then gets into a cab to head back to the Marbella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those who have read and commented!


	7. Chapter 7

Petra needs a drink.

This wouldn’t normally be a problem since she has access to some of the city’s best booze. With things as they are, however, she can’t just pop down to The Gem and grab a bottle to take back to her suite. (She’s decided to suspend The Gem’s activities for the near future. At least until she can talk with Sin Rostro about setting up some sort of arrangement.) And she’s nowhere near stupid enough to keep an emergency stash in the Marbella.

Her best course of action is to drop by Luisa’s place and hope that it’s too early in the evening for Luisa to be tied up in some hanky panky. Petra’s only walked in on Luisa and one of her lady friends once and it was quite enough for her.

“Luisa?" 

She hammers on the back door of Luisa’s building. It’s got a good set up—Luisa’s practice is on the first floor and her living space is on the second and third floors. Although it’s not as spacious as Petra herself would prefer, it seems to be working for Luisa. The door is thrown open and Luisa is standing there, a little rumpled, but mercifully wearing a full set of clothes under her doctor’s coat. (Petra has also seen Luisa in about every state of undress there is. It has never been unpleasant, per se, but it has always been unexpected.)

“Hi, Petra,” Luisa says, blinking rapidly. “Is everything all right?” She glances over Petra’s head to see if there’s anyone behind her. “Is something wrong at the hotel? Or with my brother—?”

“No, no, everything is fine. Well, as fine as it can be. I’m just here for a little visit. May I?”

Luisa lets her into her semi-lavish foyer where Petra takes off her coat and hat. They linger for a moment, Luisa clearly thrown by Petra’s presence.

“I’m not keeping you from a patient, am I?” Petra asks, gesturing to Luisa’s coat.

“What? Oh, no. I was just cleaning up after today’s appointments. If I was a man I’d have a nurse or secretary to do that sort of thing, but it’s proving difficult to find someone who will do the same work for a woman doctor, even if she’s offering more money.”

“Go ahead with that then. Do you mind if I nip upstairs and pour myself a little something?”

Luisa’s shoulders lose all their tension and an easy smile breaks across her face. “For goodness sake, why didn’t you lead with that? I thought you were here to box my ears for something. Yes, of course, go on up. I’ll be with you when I’m finished. The goods are where they always are.”

Petra doesn’t bother to ask if anyone else is lounging about Luisa’s apartment. At this point she’s come to expect it so if she does run into a scantily clad lady, she won’t be too badly surprised, and if she doesn’t, it’s just icing on the cake. It appears that Petra is the only person on the second floor as she makes her way to the sitting room and begins fiddling with the radio’s dials. Classical music trickles out of the cathedral-style device’s speakers, and Petra bends down and opens the bottom drawer of the bureau the radio is standing on. She feels around the blankets being stored there until she finally finds the latch near the back. Without a single sound, the bottom of the drawer pops up and reveals several bottles of this and that. None of them are labeled, so she grabs the one on the right and hopes for the best.

She pours the liquid into a glass and grimaces at the first mouthful. Horrible. She misses pre-Prohibition alcohol. Petra ought to have taken Luisa’s lead and squirreled away a few bottles of the good stuff before the whole country had been dried. It goes without saying that she would have been far more prudent with such treasures than Luisa had been, as Luisa had gone through her whole stash by May of 1920.

Still, it gets the job done. Petra leaves the bottle out for Luisa and sits down on the settee. Takes another mouthful of alcohol and tries to forget everything that’s happened on this godawful day for just a moment. She’ll have to deal with all of it eventually.

The small glass is little more than halfway empty by the time Luisa rejoins her. She pours herself a considerably bigger glass and collapses on the sofa next to Petra. They drink in silence for far longer than Petra would have expected from Luisa until finally she breaks.

“So it’s crazy that the cops think someone at the Marbella has something to do with that murder, isn’t it?” Luisa says. “I would have thought that they were coming about your thing or my thing, but murder? I was completely surprised.”

Petra hums to indicate that she’s listening, content to let Luisa do the talking. She’s sticking to her previous resolution—it would be an unnecessary risk to let Luisa know details about Needle’s murder.

“Which is probably why you’re here instead of drinking at your place,” Luisa continues. “You’re worried about the police following you.”

“More or less.”

“And you’re having problems with Rafael.”

Petra takes a much bigger swallow than she’d intended and sputters. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t act so surprised. The coolness is so tangible that an iceberg is liable to spring up between you two any day now. I can’t remember the last time you did something romantic.”

“We have a wedding date.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Luisa scoffs. “You just pulled that date out of the air to get Papa off of Raf’s case. I mean something romantic, like a night at the opera or a candlelit dinner.”

“Rafael went to the symphony a few weeks ago. Does that count?”

“You didn’t go with him, so no. It doesn’t.”

“He’s busy with the hotel.” Luisa gives Petra a knowing look as soon as the words are spoken. “Okay, fine. _I’m_ busy with the hotel. And honestly, this marriage isn’t about love, it’s about an arrangement that’s mutually beneficial to both of us. So is it irritating that he’s acting so distant? Yes. Is it the end of the world? No, of course not.”

“That is so sad.” Luisa’s eyes get wide and misty. “I think it’s the saddest thing in the world to be able to marry for love and throw it away like that."

“It’s isn’t all that sad,” Petra counters. “It would be far sadder if I’d ever been in love in the first place. But I haven’t, so I don’t know what I’m missing.”

The mistiness in Luisa’s eyes turns into full-blown tears and for a second Petra thinks that Luisa is going to hug her. Petra pulls back slowly from the anticipated contact that never comes. Instead, Luisa cradles her almost-empty glass close to her chest and sighs.

“Oh, Petra. You don’t know what you’re missing. I am so _blissfully_ happy and if I could marry the object of my affections…” She drifts off into another dreamy, melancholy sigh.

“You could have a Boston marriage,” Petra says pragmatically. “It wouldn’t be legal, but with the amount of money you make, you’d be able to support your wife if she didn’t want to work.” Something breaks through to the top of Petra’s brain and she remembers who Luisa’s current gal is. “Although I wouldn’t recommend pursuing that particular path with your father’s fiancée.”

It’s Luisa’s turn to sputter. “His—I’m not—but—” She coughs, some of the alcohol having gone down the wrong pipe. Petra gives her a solid thump on the back. “Did you say fiancée?” Luisa wheezes.

“As good as. He mentioned it this morning before the police arrived. That’s why Rose was there at all.”

“Has he proposed to her?”

“Not yet, but—”

“Then it’s not settled,” Luisa says defiantly. “She told me that when he proposes she means to refuse him.”

Oh, Luisa…

“I love her,” Luisa insists when she sees the skepticism written on Petra’s face. She pours some more of the unidentifiable drink into her glass. “And she loves me. And even though our circumstances aren’t ideal, things _will_ work out. You’ll see.”

Petra nods to placate Luisa and finishes off her drink. She can’t imagine banking so much on a feeling alone. But Luisa has always done exactly what she wants with only minor disasters now and again, so all Petra can do is watch as things play out.

“Don’t you want to find love?” Luisa asks, starting to slur her words.

“I’m a bit busy for that.” Petra traces the rim of the glass with her forefinger. “Besides, I wouldn’t know where to look.”

“You could try falling in love with your fiancé.”

“I suppose I could.” But Petra knows that she won’t be able to. In the beginning of their relationship, she and Rafael had been infatuated with one another at most. She doesn’t know what love has to do with anything anyway.

“Rose is so wonderful,” Luisa sighs. “Seeing her is always the best part of my day.”

Petra glances at her watch and decides it’s time to get a move on—it seems that Luisa’s going to be a sentimental drunk this evening. She thanks her future sister-in-law for allowing her to intrude on her time and takes her leave.

Although the alcohol had been sub-par and the conversation less than ideal, she had managed to take her mind off of Sin Rostro. And now her brain is a tad too fuzzy to focus on anything other than being incredibly paranoid that a policeman is going to jump out at her en route to the hotel and arrest her for being tipsy. That would be just her luck.

She makes it back to the hotel unscathed by either the police or anyone else who would demand too much of her tonight and climbs into her bed without changing her clothes.

Petra had thought that Jane would come up first thing in the morning to find out what Petra found out about Sin Rostro, but she never shows. Petra goes down to the kitchen and stands there, making the manager extremely nervous, for about half an hour before she determines that Miss Villanueva has not shown up for work. Petra clicks out of the dining area and back up to her office to get some work done. She ignores the little voice in her head that’s telling her to have James alert her the minute Miss Villanueva walks in. That would be unprofessional. If Jane doesn’t want to see her then that’s her problem. She’s probably found another job that will keep her out of harm’s way. And why should Petra care anyway? Jane’s been nothing but a complication from the beginning. It’s one less thing to worry about.

Petra looks down and realizes that she’s snapped her pencil in half. With an annoyed huff, she rummages through her desk and replaces it. She pushes Jane from her mind, determined to get back down to business. This doesn’t stop her from taking all of the day’s meals down in the restaurant area, however. She tells herself that it’s because she needs a change of scenery from her office to keep her mind sharp. The fact that she glances sharply at every waitress who comes out of the kitchen doors is purely coincidental.

It’s more of the same the couple of days—Petra eating breakfast at the bar, glowering at every waitress who has the audacity to not be Jane, Petra unable to focus on doing figures because she’s wondering if Jane is happy at her new job, Petra obsessively going through the employment report James brings up to her and being relieved and disappointed that it doesn’t contain any news about Jane quitting.

The employment report also reminds Petra of the existence of Xiomara Villanueva, who has apparently been coming into work regularly while her daughter is absent.

Petra contrives a plan to accidentally bump into Xo in the laundry room in the hotel’s basement where Xo is dumping the dirty linens she’d collected from the suites. The other women in the room had frozen when they’d seen Petra enter, but when they see her and Xo exchange pleasantries so naturally they ease up and go back to their regular chatter.

“I noticed that Jane has been gone for a few days,” Petra says.

“You’re not thinking of firing her, are you?” Xo looks panicked. “I asked Lina to help get her shifts covered and she said she would, but maybe there was a mix up…”

“I thought perhaps she’d found other employment.”

“Is that all? No, she’s just been laid up in bed.”

“Oh. So she’ll be back?”

“God willing. It’s nothing serious, just a fever and some vomiting, but her fever’s mostly gone. My mother’s taking care of her.” Xo peers at her curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if I needed to hire someone else to fill her position,” Petra says briskly. “And it appears I do not. Thank you for your time.”

The next morning Petra is contemplating sending Luisa to the Villanueva apartment to make sure that Jane’s condition is not serious when Jane lets herself into Petra’s office. The room seems to brighten exponentially, as if Jane’s crisp white collar is lighting up the room. She looks a little more pale than normal, but otherwise there are no outward indications of her illness.

“Miss Andel,” she says by way of greeting. “My mother said you were asking after me yesterday.”

“Not asking after you, per se, merely inquiring—”

“Were you worried that I had been kidnapped by the mysterious SR?”

As a matter of fact, that terror-inducing thought had crossed Petra’s mind more than once in the past few days. The only thing that had kept her from jumping to that conclusion was that if Jane had indeed disappeared, Officer Sweetheart would have known about it and he would have come back to the hotel, demanding to be told the truth. And it isn’t as though Sin Rostro knows about Jane. He’s just after Petra.

But Petra is both startled and unsettled by the realization that she had been worried about Jane. She hasn’t been worried about someone for a while. Worried that Rafael might lose interest? Yes. Worried that someone might rat her out to the police? Of course. She can’t remember the last time she had been worried about someone’s well-being, though. Perhaps when Milos had been stabbed in that fight? But she had only been worried because of what would happen to her if he died. If Jane disappears, Petra will not be directly affected monetarily or socially. She might feel guilty. Is that it?

“SR stands for Sin Rostro,” Petra says, not addressing Jane’s question. “Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Not at all. What did your mother have to say about him?”

Being reminded that Jane knows about Petra’s criminal mother almost makes Petra cringe. She shouldn’t have divulged so much. “Just that I ought not to have tangled with him and I’m in for an unpleasant time.”

“That doesn’t sound very useful.”

“She’s not a very helpful person by nature.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Keep my side business shut down for a while, I suppose.” Temporarily, of course. Petra’s savings will be all right for a short period of time, but eventually she will have to get back in the game.

“That seems sensible. I’ll ask Michael if he knows anything about Sin Rostro.”

“No, don’t,” Petra says quickly. “If Sin Rostro knows you’re asking the police questions…”

“It’s not ‘the police,’ it’s Michael. He won’t tell Sin Rostro.”

“But he’ll want to know where you heard the name.”

“And I’ll say I can’t remember or that I heard it on the street.”

Petra stares Jane down, but Jane refuses to yield. Finally Petra relents. “Fine. Just...don’t do anything heedless, all right? I don’t need this situation to get any messier.”

“All right.” Jane waves a hand dismissively. “I’m going to go back to work now.”

She leaves and Petra is left to analyze the sinking feeling she has in her gut. Is this guilt?

And is it just her or does the room seem noticeably less bright without Jane in it?


	8. Chapter 8

“Jane!”

It is the third consecutive morning that Rogelio de la Vega has been staying at the Marbella and the third consecutive morning that he has initiated contact with Jane Gloriana Villanueva.

Although he’s not seated in her area, Jane stops to refill his coffee anyway. He’s a fairly generous tipper.

“Beautifully poured!” he gushes.

Jane’s heard weirder compliments from customers and gives him a polite smile. “Is that all for you?”

“As a matter of fact, I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about yourself,” Rogelio says. “I like to get to know regular people. It keeps me humble.”

The idea that anything at all could keep Rogelio humble—he’s offered headshots and autographs to almost every person in the hotel who’s looked at him askance—makes very unprofessional laughter bubble close to the surface in Jane’s chest. Only seeing his earnest expression, reminding her that he is _not_ joking, keeps it in check.

“Mr. de la Vega,” she says apologetically, “I really can’t stop to chat right now.”

He looks so thoroughly wounded that Jane wonders if she’s failed some sort of test. And perhaps she has. Xo has been sneaking out lately and if Jane’s suspicions are correct, she’s been going to see Rogelio. It isn’t the first time that one of her mother’s lovers has wanted to get to know Jane in order to get closer to Xiomara. Once she confirms that Rogelio is someone her mother knows rather than some actor who is being more than a little intrusive, then she’ll maybe sit down with him.

“It’s the morning rush,” Jane explains. “If I have time after that’s over, I’ll come talk. Is that all right?”

“That is more than I deserve.” Rogelio gives a flourish.

“What was all that about?” Lina asks slyly when they’re back in the kitchen, loading their trays up with plates.

“What was what all about?”

“Please. He was hanging onto your every word. It’s obvious he’s interested in you. So what did he offer you? A diamond necklace? A fancy night out at the Ritz?”

“He just wants to talk,” Jane says.

“Sure he does.” Lina gives her a knowing wink. “Well, if you’re not going to take him up on any of his offers, send him my way. I’ve always wanted a sugar daddy.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “Unbelievable.”

She has her opportunity to ask Xo about Rogelio when she sees Xo duck into the changing room just after breakfast ends.

“Ma, I—”

Xiomara jumps and spins around, a hand on her chest. “Jane! You scared me. What are you sneaking around for?”

“I’m not the one sneaking around,” Jane points out.

“Listen, I can’t really talk right now, I’m supposed to be upstairs—” Xo begins rummaging through her purse.

“I’ll be quick. Do you know Rogelio de la Vega?"

There is a brief pause before Xo pulls her head out of her locker to face Jane. “Who?”

“Rogelio de la Vega. He was in _El genio alegre_ , remember? Very handsome, very dramatic. You didn’t meet him with Abuela and me.”

“If I didn’t meet him, how could I remember him?” Xo asks casually.

Jane decides to cut right to the chase.  “Have you or have you not been having extramarital relations with him?” Before Xo can protest her innocence, Jane continues, “I’m not going to give you a lecture. He’s just been hanging around the Marbella lately wanting to talk to me, and I don’t want to encourage him if he’s some kind of rapscallion.”

“I don’t know him.” Xo shuts her locker.

“Then where have you been sneaking off to?”

“I haven’t been ‘sneaking’ anywhere. I’ve been spending time with some of my girl friends and singing here at the hotel. Now, if you don’t mind—” Xo slips past Jane and exits the changing room.

Jane watches the door swing shut, frowning. She had been so ready to bet that her suspicions were right. If Rogelio isn’t sleeping with Xiomara, what could he possibly want with Jane?

“Oh, I’m so glad you came back,” Rogelio says. “Please, sit down.”

“Okay, but just for a minute. We aren’t generally encouraged to sit with customers.”

“Of course, of course.” He sits up straighter, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “Now, tell me all about you.”

“That’s a tall order,” Jane says, momentarily disarmed by the intensity in his eyes. “Do you have any specific questions you want me to answer?”

“Why don’t you tell me about your family?”

“I live with my mom and my abuela.”

“And your father?”

“Killed in the Spanish-American War.”

Jane’s heard the story more times than she can count, mostly because she’s pestered her mother about it more times than she can count. It wasn’t until she had been four or five that she realized that most children have a father. That’s when she began asking questions. Xiomara had always been honest with Jane about her father, telling her from the very beginning that they hadn’t been married. He had been a street sweeper here in the city until he left America to join his brothers in the Cuban fight for independence. He died for his ideals, something which has always given Jane strength.

“Oh.” Something shifts in his expression. “That must have been hard for you. Do you remember him?”

“No, I hadn’t been born yet.”

“And now you live here, in New York City?”

“Yes.”

“And do you have any hobbies? You know, like acting or singing?”

Is he looking for fresh talent to add to the troupe? Is Jane actually sitting for some kind of interview?

“My mom’s a singer, but I’ve never really been one for performing.”

“What a shame,” Rogelio says, shaking his head.

Jane is in the middle of trying to think of a suitable response to that when she’s summoned by Petra who is standing at the entryway of the dining room, hands on her hips. Once Jane has reached Petra, she steps behind the wall out into the lobby.

“Who is that?” Petra asks, nodding in Rogelio’s direction.

“Rogelio de la Vega, he’s an actor.”

“What does he want?”

“Good morning, by the way.”

Petra turns her gaze on Jane, as if she’s just been shaken from her thoughts. “Good morning.” She offers a brief smile. “What does he want?”

“He just wants to talk. Why?”

“What sorts of things has he been asking?”

“Just about my family and my hobbies.”

“Has he been speaking with anyone else?”

“Not as far as I can tell. What’s going on?” Jane presses.

“He’s been lurking around the hotel.”

“Lurking?”

“Lurking. Being in places that he has no good reason for being.”

Something clicks in Jane’s mind. “You think he might be involved with Sin Rostro?”

“I think it would be foolish not to take precautions. What do you know about him?”

“He’s an actor. He’s performing at the Princess Theatre in a show that opened a few weeks ago.”

“Around the time of…?”

“Yes.” Her head is swimming. “What should we do? Should we—?” She was going to say “Should we call the police?” but she knows that’s out of the question.

“See if you can get me a meeting with Sin Rostro,” Petra says. “But be subtle about it.”

“Subtle. Of course.”

Jane returns to the booth where Rogelio is looking at his reflection on his knife.

“I hope you’re not in trouble on my account,” he says graciously.

“Not at all. In fact, she’s a big fan of yours.” Jane proceeds slowly, choosing her words with care. “And she thinks you might have a mutual friend.”

“Evelyn Nesbit?”

“No.”

“Baby Blanche?”

“No, someone who’s more...low profile.”

Rogelio picks up on Jane’s implications and nods solemnly. “Oh, of course. I can’t believe I didn’t think of him at first. Perhaps because he’s not always in the city, if you know what I mean.”

Jane’s heart picks up its pace. She worries over her next words, not wanting to muck things up “And she was wondering if you could perhaps arrange something between the two of them or the three of you.”

“Of course! It might be a few days, but I shall not fail you.”

Rogelio gives Jane a smart salute as she heads back to the kitchen to help prepare for lunch. He seems awfully earnest for someone who is allegedly a clandestine messenger for Sin Rostro, but perhaps that’s what makes him so effective. No one would expect someone with Rogelio’s effusive personality to be tied up in something so covert.

The more she learns about Sin Rostro, the more sinister the workings of his brain appear. And the less Jane wants to be involved with him.

 

+++

 

“And you’re sure he said the meeting is in his dressing room at the Princess,” Petra says.

“Yes,” Jane confirms.

The two of them are riding in a cab to the other side of the city for Petra’s meeting with Sin Rostro. Petra had initially proposed to go alone, but Jane had insisted on coming along so she could call the police if anything should go awry.

“It just seems like an odd place for a gangster to hold court.”

Jane hands Petra the sheet of lavender stationery that Rogelio had given her that morning. “Read it for yourself.”

_Dearest Jane,_ it read. _I have arranged a meeting between your mutual friend and mine for this evening at four o’clock in my dressing room at the Princess Theatre. Please feel free to come along yourself and perhaps we can talk more. Ever yours, Rogelio de la Vega_

“He certainly is besotted with you,” said Petra, her eyes flitting over the gold ink.

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Can’t you?” Petra catches herself before she begins to list off all of Jane’s favorable qualities—her smile, the way her eyes crinkle when she’s delighted by something, her lovely dark hair, how fiercely she fights for things she cares about. She clears her throat. “Well, Officer Sweetheart obviously understands your appeal. Why don’t you ask him?”

“His name is Michael,” Jane says a little more sharply than is warranted. “And you’re just sore at him because he wouldn’t tell me anything about Sin Rostro.”

“It would be nice to have some idea of what I’m heading into this afternoon.”

“Michael isn’t the only person who has that information.”

Jane is alluding to Petra’s mother, which Petra ignores. She’s not going to go back to Sing Sing unless she absolutely has to.

“No matter. If all goes well, I can have this Sin Rostro business over and done with today.”

Once it’s all over, she won’t have any reason to speak to Jane regularly either, but Petra tries not to think about that.

The traffic along thirty-ninth street is jammed with late afternoon traffic, and Petra and Jane elect to get out and walk the rest of the way.

Rogelio swings the door of his dressing room wide open before Petra can finish knocking. “Come in, come in! Our mutual friend hasn’t arrived yet, but I have tea all ready to go. Sit down, please!”

Petra perches on the edge of the loveseat and Jane sits next to her. A tray piled with tea and biscuits stands on the coffee table in front of them. The walls are plastered with photographs of Rogelio in different roles and there is a sizable wardrobe fairly bursting with colorful costumes in the corner.

No one takes any tea.

A knock comes at the door.

“Ah! There he is!”

Rogelio rockets to his feet to let the newcomer in. Jane reaches out and squeezes Petra’s hand nervously. Petra’s eyes flash to their hands to Jane’s face, which is turned away from her, to the door.

“Here he is, the man of the age!” Rogelio proclaims proudly. “Buster Keaton!”

A white man of middling height with large eyes and angular features steps into the room, his face betraying nothing of how he’s feeling.

“Buster Keaton?” Petra repeats. “The silent film star?”

“And former vaudeville actor,” Rogelio says.

“How do you do?” His voice was surprisingly low and rough.

Both Petra and Jane shake his hand in turn, staring at him dumbfounded, as he sits down on the chair across from the loveseat and begins pouring himself a cup of tea.

“Rogelio said we were mutual friends,” he says, “But I must confess I don’t believe I’ve ever met either of you before.”

“No, I’m sorry, there appears to have been a misunderstanding,” Petra says.

“Not that we aren’t honored to meet you,” Jane adds.

“Is this not the low-profile person you were referring to?” Rogelio asks Jane, bewildered. His eyes widen. “Oh, no. Did you perhaps mean Charlie Chaplin? I met him once, but it was a while ago and I’m afraid we didn’t get along very well.”

Petra exchanges a glance with Jane. If Rogelio is working for Sin Rostro, he’s much better than Petra had initially given him credit for.

“Can I speak to you outside for a moment?” Petra asks him.

They step out into the hall, Petra making sure that the door is cracked so Jane can hear what’s going on.

“What seems to be the problem?” Rogelio asks.

“Listen, I know your secret.” Petra knows nothing of the sort, but in her experience people will give up just about any information if you pretend to already know it. “I know why you’ve been skulking around the Marbella and I know why you’ve been questioning Jane.”

“You do?” Rogelio’s eyebrows come together. “I thought I was being so subtle.”

“I’m not here to make enemies,” Petra says. “I just need answers.”

“Does Jane know?”

“She has her suspicions.”

“All right, fine,” Rogelio relents. “I was sworn to secrecy, but since you already know, I suppose Xiomara will forgive me.”

“Xiomara?”

Rogelio continues as if Petra hadn’t spoken. “Yes, I am Jane’s father. But we were going to wait for the right time to tell her before—”

The door is wrenched open the rest of the way and Jane is standing there, looking at Rogelio with a thunderstruck expression.

“What?” She says it as if all of the air has been knocked out of her lungs. “What did you say?”

Rogelio looks between the two women, seeming just as confused as they are.

“I thought you said you knew?” he says to Petra. “That Jane at least thought—”

“No,” Petra says. “No, we were talking about something else entirely.”

“I’m just going to let myself out,” says Buster Keaton, a couple of biscuits in his hand. “It was good to see you again, Rogelio.”

He creeps out the door, leaving the three frozen people in his wake.

 

+++

 

“Are you all right?” Petra asks.

They’re back in a cab, having made their excuses to a crestfallen Rogelio. Jane is staring out the window, not speaking or even moving.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jane says and goes back to silence.

The “not with you” is unspoken but still present. As they ride through the city, Petra thinks of how Jane is probably going to start a fight with Xiomara and end up going to Michael for comfort. She reminds herself that she and Jane aren’t friends. They’re allies who happen to fall on the same side. As soon as they don’t have a common enemy, they will cease to interact.

“See you tomorrow?” Petra says as Jane exits the cab outside of her apartment building.

Jane closes the door.

Petra is not in the best of moods when she returns to the Marbella and finds Rafael sitting at her desk.

“Can I help you with something?"

“Don’t mind me,” he says, leafing through some papers. He’s not dressed for a night out like Petra thought he would be at this hour. He’s still wearing his day clothes, although he’s removed his tie and collar.

“This is my office, Rafael.”

“For now.”

“And now I suppose you want me to say ‘what does that mean?’ and get flustered and upset.” Petra is thoroughly bored with the whole rigmarole. What happened to Rafael never paying any attention to her? She comes around her desk to look at the papers he’s looking at. “My accounts? How original. Are you looking for evidence that I’ve embezzled funds?”

“Or anything that will get Dad to disapprove of you,” Rafael says more honestly than Petra had been expecting.

“Fantastic. Well, by all means, keep looking. I’ve had one hell of a day, so if you don’t mind I’m going to go up to my suite.” She gives a humorless chuckle. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in me trying to get you to join me?”

“I don’t suppose there’s any use in me asking you to break off our engagement?” Rafael returns coolly.

“None at all.” Petra gives him a false smile. “Keep searching, darling.”

“I could just tell him you’re a gold digger,” Rafael says just as she’s about to leave. “That you don’t love me. Maybe he’d see reason.”

Petra gives a real laugh then. “Have you met his fiancée? Besides, you knew I was poor when you proposed to me. That was one of his objections to our engagement in the first place. But you were the one who insisted that it was love.”

“Maybe I’ll break it off anyway,” he threatens. “I could stand to lose the Marbella until I can convince my dad that I’ve got more business savvy than he thinks.”

“Go ahead,” Petra says with a wave of her hand. “Go find a woman who loves you and who’ll be able to keep up the fiction that you’re capable of running this place by yourself. So we don’t love each other. There have been plenty of successful marriages based on things other than love. Social connections, money, political alliances… I won’t stop you in your quest for love, if that’s what you’re worried about. You can keep as many mistresses as you want.

He’s looking up at her with an expression of disbelief and disgust. “I don’t want to be tied to you in any way. All you care about is money. You’re heartless.”

“But I am effective. Goodnight, Rafael. Happy hunting.”

Some half an hour after this conversation, Petra is lying on her bed and gazing at the ceiling. Rafael wouldn’t really break off their engagement just to spite her, would he? No, he would wait until he had probable cause to do so, something that would get his father to see it his way. God knows how soon that will be, though. Petra is itching to go through her personal account books and see how much she’ll have to live on once Raf chucks her out. Although it’s not really living expenses she’s worried about… Can she really afford to keep The Gem shut down until she can speak with Sin Rostro?

A light tapping comes at Petra’s door.

“Don’t you have some snooping to do, Rafael?” Petra calls, not moving from her spot.

“It’s Jane.”

Petra is on her feet in half a second and to the door in another second. Jane is standing there, somehow sheepish and defiant at the same time.

“I need somewhere to stay,” she says, not looking Petra in the eye.

“Of course.” Petra ushers her inside. Having learned her lesson about prying into Jane’s private affairs earlier, she does not ask how the exchange with her mother went. “I would normally put you up in one of the other suites, but things aren’t exactly swell with my fiancé at the moment, so the best I can do is put you up in here. You’ll take the bed, of course, and I can sleep on the fainting couch.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize I’d be kicking you out of your bed.” Jane frowns. “Sorry, it’s just I didn’t want to stay at home, but Lina was having a party at her place and obviously staying at Michael’s would be unseemly and… I didn’t know where else to go. But if I’m going to be inconveniencing you, I can find somewhere else—”

“You’re already here,” Petra says quickly. “And honestly I don’t mind. We don’t even have to talk.”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Jane says, her cheeks turning a light pink. “I was being rude.”

“You’d just had a severe shock,” Petra says. “I don’t blame you. And really, I don’t mind. I’ve got extra nightclothes and things and you can stay here as long as you need to.”

Jane takes Petra up on the offer and changes into a soft nightgown that matches Petra’s own. Petra feels vulnerable while taking off her make up—Jane isn’t wearing any at all and Petra thinks that it isn’t fair that Jane’s eyelashes are naturally that long and dark—but Jane doesn’t even seem to notice the contrast. She merely brushes her teeth into the sink beside her, little flecks of toothpaste escaping from the corners of her mouth.

While Petra is brushing her own teeth, Jane says her prayers kneeling by the side of Petra’s big bed. It’s a foolish urge since Petra hasn’t prayed since arriving in America, but she wants to drop to her knees next to Jane and give her thanks, too.

The fainting couch is far more uncomfortable for sleeping than Petra would have imagined. She lies there in the dark, shifting her position every so often as quietly as she can.

Not quietly enough.

“Are you sure you’re all right there?” Jane whispers.

“Yes,” Petra whispers back.

“The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

“I’m fine.”

She tries to rearrange her body once more, causing that awful fainting couch to give an almighty creak that Petra is sure can be heard from down the hall.

“Petra.”

Jane’s tone brooks no nonsense and Petra find herself easing under the covers as far away from Jane as she can possibly be.

“I don’t kick,” Jane murmurs sleepily, her back to Petra.

“And I don’t snore.”

Petra keeps her eyes on Jane’s back, on the way Jane’s hair is half tucked into her nightgown and half going wherever it pleases. She resists the impulse to free the trapped half and run her fingers through it and turns over.

Soon Jane’s slow, even breathing is lulling her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my name is Becca Usuallyproperlyhydrated and I'm addicted to the bed-sharing trope. :P
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Special shout out to inamamagic who is a faithful commenter and never fails to make me smile. :) I love getting kudos and page views, but I especially love getting comments from the readers (that's you) saying what they enjoyed. It helps me know what you guys like! 
> 
> Or you can follow bbethyl's lead and just comment "I wish I could give more than one kudos!"
> 
> Anyway, you all are a treat! I still have no idea how long this thing's going to be. Possibly five more chapters? Maybe ten? We will see! xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

Jane has never slept more soundly in her entire life. Whatever Petra’s bed is made out of, it’s incredibly soft and incredibly comfortable. She feels completely rested when her body wakes up at its usual time.

Reaching for the clock on the bedside table, she sees that she still has about forty-five minutes before she has to report for her shift. The time she would normally spend getting ready and getting to her place of employment stretches before her now. Maybe she’ll try to get a little bit more sleep. Jane rolls over onto her right side, burrowing her head into her pillow and closing her eyes.

It’s no use. Her body is awake.

She opens her eyes and kills a few more minutes by surveying her slumbering bedfellow. Petra is still close to the edge of the bed—in fact, Jane is surprised that Petra hasn’t rolled off during the middle of the night. But Petra is at least facing the middle of the bed, and Jane takes the opportunity to let her eyes roam over Petra’s features without worry of reproach or self-consciousness.

Petra’s brow is furrowed, as if she’s trying to puzzle out problems even while dreaming. But other than that, she seems to have no control over her appearance. The curve of her lips, the lines of her lashes, the way her blonde curls fall over her brow… Jane feels very comfortable in her body, but she knows that she will never, ever be on the same aesthetic plane as Petra. And in some ways, she’s glad. It’s enough for Michael to consider her beautiful. Jane doesn’t need hordes of people swooning over her appearance. Whether she wants them to or not, Petra turns heads wherever she goes. And from what Jane’s seen, Petra feels every one of their glances.

During her waking hours, Petra uses her beauty as a weapon, using it to charm or threaten as it behooves her. Her make up, her outfits, her posture, and her expressions are all wielded to achieve maximum results. Now, watching Petra sleep, Jane is reminded of Kant’s theory about beauty. Beauty is not truth, as Keats purported. Rather, beauty is beauty. It exists for its own sake. And she finds that she prefers Petra’s beauty when it’s not being directed at anyone or anything.

As Petra gives a small sigh and tucks one of her hands under her head, Jane feels a smile tug at her lips, and a ripple of warmth spreads through her chest. She’s grateful that Petra let her stay the night, but she’s fairly certain that the feeling isn’t gratitude. It’s affection.

Sometime between storming into Petra’s speakeasy and going with her to confront what they thought was a dangerous gangster, Jane has become fond of Petra.

The longer she lies there, though, noting the smoothness of Petra’s cheeks and the way they’re perfectly pink, the more she gets the nagging sensation that fondness isn’t perhaps the right word for it. She casts around in her mind through all of the words she’s picked up over decades of reading and vocabulary-building and can’t come up with a satisfactory answer.

More light has filtered through the lavish curtains and Jane decides to go down to work early. Despite Jane’s attempt to gingerly ease herself off the bed, Petra still stirs.

“Jane?” She inhales sharply, as if the extra air will make her wake up more quickly. “’samatter?”

“It’s okay,” Jane whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

Petra squints at her through not-quite-open eyes. Without warning, her head drops back down onto her pillow and Jane finds herself grinning at how unselfconscious it all is. It’s a Petra that she’s sure very few other people have ever gotten to see.

The morning passes uneventfully, and slowly the relaxed easiness of Jane’s mood is replaced with irritation at the situation that had prompted her to stay at the Marbella in the first place. Although Rogelio de la Vega is nowhere to be seen, she keeps thinking that she hears him calling her over to his table and nearly puts a crick in her neck from whipping around so often. Jane also manages to avoid running into her mother, though during one of her more rebellious moods, she does have the temptation to go looking for her and to have a shouting match in the middle of a hall somewhere.

Abuela drops by during Jane’s lunch break.

“Where did you stay last night?” Alba asks, clutching Jane’s hand. “I spoke with Lina’s doorman and he said that you had been by, but hadn’t stayed the night. You didn’t stay with Michael, did you?”

“Of course not, abuela,” Jane replies. “I stayed here at the hotel. Someone owed me a favor.”

“How long are you going to stay here?”

“Until I’m not mad at Ma anymore,” Jane says stubbornly.

“ _Escuchame._ I know you’re upset, _hija_ , but your mother had her reasons. If you would just sit down and talk with her—”

“She _lied_ to me! I could understand if she had told me a version of the truth, like that she hadn’t wanted to marry Mr. de la Vega or that his job had been too unsteady to support us, but she told me that he was a soldier! And that he’d died! Did she think that my real father wouldn’t show up one day?” Jane makes a frustrated noise. “Did she think it through at all? Or did she just tell me the first fantasy that popped into her head?”

“These are all questions for your mother,” Alba says.

“I’m not ready to talk to her yet.”

“I know.” Alba gives Jane’s hand a pat before she stands up. “But don’t leave it too long.” And much to Jane’s surprise, she says the next words in English. “Don’t let the sun go down upon your anger.”

“That’s from _Little Women_ ,” Jane says, impressed that her grandmother had remembered the words exactly. “It’s what Marmee says to Jo after Amy burns Jo’s manuscript.”

“ _Sí, y te recuerdo que lo sucedió después_. Don’t leave it too long.” Alba gives her granddaughter a kiss on the forehead before leaving.

Jane goes through the last half of her shift very distracted. Her grandmother’s words are echoing in her mind. Of course she remembers what happened to Jo and Amy. Jo refused to speak to Amy for weeks until Amy fell through the ice on the river and almost drowned. She would have died if Laurie hadn’t rushed her back to the March home, and Jo realized that Marmee had been right. Her sister was far more precious than any manuscript.

It’s a nice idea, but isn’t a perfect parallel. A better parallel would have been if Marmee had lied to her daughters about the identity of their father. For example, if she told them that Mr. March had gone to be a chaplain in the Civil War, but he had really run off to become a famous actor, that would have been more relevant. Or if she’d told them that he’d died in action when really he’d drunk himself to death.  Or if she’d told them that Mr. March was their father and then another man had turned up claiming that that title belonged to him. It probably would have been very appropriate for Jo to let the sun go down upon her anger then. Not forever, of course, but for a while.

What Jane really wants is to talk to Michael about it. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since the revelation was sprung on her and she hasn’t been able to get ahold of him. After her shift ends, she waits until James is out of the kitchen then uses the telephone to ring the precinct. It’s no good. The officer who answers the telephone won’t tell her where Michael is and doesn’t sound very convincing when he promises to have Michael give Jane a call at the Marbella as soon as he can. Jane supposes that he must be doing important work on his murder case, but she wishes she could talk to him for even five minutes. Honestly at this point she would be content with just a hug. She needs some semblance of stability in the midst of her world getting shaken to pieces.

She’s on her way out the door when Petra stops her.

“Jane! I’m glad I caught you. Where are you heading?”

“To see Michael.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure he’s expecting you. I won’t keep you.”

Jane isn’t sure why—perhaps it’s the way that Petra’s face shifts so rapidly from friendly to businesslike—but she decides to come clean. “He isn’t expecting me, actually. I can’t reach him via the telephone, so I was going to drop by the precinct to see if I can catch him there. But he probably isn’t even in the area. What can I help you with?”

It takes a moment for Petra to decide which tack to take, but only a moment.

“It’s nothing, really. I don’t want to keep you from seeing Officer Sweetheart.”

Jane folds her arms.

“Petra.”

It’s the same voice she’d used the night before to get Petra to stop being a martyr about sleeping on the fainting couch. And it works just as quickly now as it did then.

“All right, fine. I know that the past few days haven’t been particularly pleasant for you, so I was going to suggest a night out on the town.”

“I’m not going to your—”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that!” Petra seems offended by the very idea. “I know that isn’t your idea of a good time.”

“And it’s been shut down.” Sin Rostro’s note flashes through Jane’s mind and she suppresses a shudder. Although she can’t imagine that Petra would be so stupid as to re-open her speakeasy with such a threat hanging over her head, Jane has to make certain. “It has been shut down, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, of course. No, what I have in mind is aboveboard. As part of my job at the hotel, I take it upon myself to try out new restaurants so I can recommend them to our patrons. There’s this bistro I’ve heard good things about and I would go with Rafael, but…” She glances around to make sure that no one in the lobby can hear her. “As you know, things aren’t going so well with him. And I would go with Luisa, but it seems she has a previous engagement, and I can’t very well go alone, can you imagine the scandal? An unaccompanied, unchaperoned, and unmarried woman? The whole of civilized society would begin foaming at the mouth and howling for my blood.”

“You want me to go to dinner with you?”

“It’s more complex than that, as I’m going for the purpose of evaluating the food and décor, but yes.”

Jane ignores how her heart skips a beat. Instead she focuses on the logistics of the potential night out. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“You’re Luisa’s size, and she has a couple of dresses stored here at the hotel. She won’t mind.”

A thousand more reasons for Jane to say no rush through her head. She’s never been to a fancy bistro before. What if she uses the wrong fork? What if she trips on her dress? What if she says something that reveals her low class status, like asking the waiter about his day?

“Don’t try to convince me to wear a flapper dress,” Jane warns Petra.

Petra’s face lights up, recognizing Jane’s statement as her cautious way of accepting the invitation. “I would never dream of it.”

 

+++++

 

In the end Jane chooses a soft pink dress with an intricately beaded bodice and a drop waist. (The hem goes all the way to her ankles.) She even lets Petra put a little mascara on her eyelashes—Petra grumbles something about them already being longer than is fair—and pin her hair up in a faux-bob. Jane spends some time looking at herself in the mirror while Petra finishes getting ready. At first she had been fussing over how much the dress must have cost, but as she walks back and forth in front of the mirror, trying to get used to how it moves, she tries to convince herself that the price doesn’t matter. If she’s careful, she’ll be able to return it unscathed.

“Are you ready to go?”

Petra’s wearing a dress that’s almost exactly like Jane’s, except that it’s deep blue and falls just below her knee. It brings out her eyes, which are watching Jane for a reaction. Unlike sleeping Petra, this Petra knows that she’s beautiful and she’s waiting to be told as much. She’s waiting for Jane to let her know that her weapon is sufficient for whatever battle she might happen upon during the evening.

“Yes.” Jane walks past Petra towards the door, not giving her the satisfaction of so much as a second glance.

The bistro that Petra takes them to is a small, exclusive place. There’s a crowd concentrated at the door, but Petra brushes by them all, giving her name to the maître d’ with an air of authority that inspires both awe and hatred in the people she passes. They are seated at a cozy table in the corner where they have a view of the entire restaurant. Petra spends about thirty seconds appraising the entire interior, then turns her focus to the menu. Jane follows suit and is distressed to find that there aren’t any prices listed next to the items. How is she going to choose the least expensive option if she doesn’t know what it is?

“Don’t worry about the price,” Petra says, not looking up.

“Pardon me?”

“The price of the meal. I told you, you’re doing me a favor. Order whatever catches your fancy.”

Jane is about to ask Petra how she had known what she had been thinking, but then she remembers what Petra told her about her past. She imagines that Petra went through some of the same feelings when she and Rafael had first gone to dinner together.

Once Jane has accepted that there is no way to tell for certain which dishes cost more than the others, she grudgingly chooses one that sounds undeniably delicious.

“What do you think?” Jane asks as the waiter goes back to the kitchen.

“About what?”

“About the bistro.”

“It’s too early to tell about the quality of their food, but the ambiance isn’t half bad,” Petra says. “Customers love hearing about places that are exclusive, and the furnishings show class without being pretentious. I’ve been in restaurants half this size that have three gaudy chandeliers just because they can.”

“Mmm.” Jane takes a sip of her water, thinking that if Petra knew that the fanciest place Jane has ever eaten is the kitchen at the Marbella, which has precisely zero chandeliers, she might faint.

“We don’t have to talk about work, though,” Petra says hastily. “I can make a full evaluation without outlining everything out loud. We can talk about something else if you’d like.”

“Such as?”

“Such as…” Petra stays completely still except for the fact that her fingers are fiddling with a napkin ring. “Oh, I don’t know. Anything, really. What kind of music you like, your favorite book, your plans for the future…”

“I like hymns,” Jane says. The waiter brings them some soft white bread that smells heavenly and she tears off a piece. “They’re comforting. I’m also becoming partial to jazz, but only because my mom sings it around the apartment.” Her gut twists at the mention of her mother, so she quickly turns the question back around. “What about you?”

“Lullabies are nice.” Petra dips her bread into some balsamic vinegar. “My mother didn’t sing any to me, at least not that I can remember, but our neighbors sang plenty.”

“In Czech?”

Petra appears surprised that Jane remembers that detail about her past. “Yes. We lived with other immigrants, so no one knew any English lullabies yet.”

“Will you sing to your children in English or Czech?”

“I’m…I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest. Do you know what language you’re going to sing to your children in?”

“Spanish,” Jane replies promptly. “All of the best lullabies are in Spanish. Although if Michael wants to sing to them in English, I won’t mind.”

Petra’s eyes flicker to Jane’s left hand. “You’ve already discussed children? I didn’t realize that you two were that serious.”

“We aren’t engaged,” Jane says. “Not yet at least. I don’t mind if we don’t have a ring, but Michael wants it to be official, so we’re waiting until he can save up enough money for a modest one.” She nods to Petra’s less-than-modest ring. “You haven’t discussed children with Mr. Solano?”

“Oh, I’m certain we did at some point, but only in abstract. He needs heirs, obviously, and as his wife I would be expected to provide those. We never talked about what language we would sing to them in, though. In fact I rather expected to have nannies to do that sort of thing.”

“You don’t want to raise your own children?”

“I imagine I’ll be quite busy with the hotel.” Petra takes a sip of water. “And in any case, it’s all hypothetical anyway. If Rafael gets his way, we won’t get as far as the altar, let alone the marriage bed.”

“I’m sorry.” Jane can’t imagine how awful it would be if Michael didn’t want anything to do with her anymore.

“Don’t be. I’m not. Well, not in the same way you are. You’re probably imagining that I’m mourning over lost love, which is absolutely not the case. I’m mourning the lost opportunity.”

A sour taste enters Jane’s mouth. “Because everything is a business opportunity with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having ambitions, Jane,” Petra says just a tad sharply.

“I never said there was.”

“You don’t need to. I can read it all over your face. You think I’m a mercenary.”

“Well when you base most of your life decisions on how much money it will yield, what else am I supposed to think?”

“You don’t have any ambitions of your own, so I couldn’t possibly expect you to understand.”

“Excuse me?” Jane forgets that they’re in a nice restaurant for a moment and raises her voice. A couple seated near them shoot her furtive looks.

“Pardon me, I forgot to recognize your dream of being married to a beat cop as a legitimate ambition.”

Jane is on the verge of storming out when the waiter brings them their food. And as furious as she is with Petra, she isn’t going to give her the satisfaction of causing a scene. Besides, the food does look tempting.

“I have other ambitions,” she says, getting her voice back under control. “I want to be an author.”

“Good luck doing that while also raising a passel of children.” Petra raises her glass to Jane in a sarcastic gesture.

“I’ll make it work,” Jane insists. “And not that it’s any of your business, but another reason Michael and I have put off our engagement is because I’m saving up to go to college. So there.”

“Oh!” As suddenly as it came on, Petra’s contrariness slips away and she sits forward in her seat. “You really ought to have led with that. Which college?”

“Barnard,” Jane says with pride. In the weeks leading up to her high school graduation, she researched women’s colleges religiously, finally settling on Barnard because it was closest and offered the best programs. She’s almost got enough saved up to pay tuition for the first two years.

“That’s impressive. Barnard is a four year school—is Officer Sweetheart all right with waiting that long?”

“He wants to compromise and get married after the first two years.”

“You told him no, right? Getting married in the middle of getting your degree is the same thing as leaving altogether. Even if you don’t get in the family way straight away, he’ll still expect you to do all the cooking and cleaning in addition to your coursework. It will be a nightmare.”

“Michael isn’t like that.”

“He isn’t going to expect you to do housework?”

“Well…”

“Is he going to be all right with hiring a maid? Or is he going to be the one doing the housework?”

As sweet and kind as Michael is, Jane really can’t imagine him pitching in around the house much. And she shouldn’t expect him to, right? It’s women’s work. It’s his job to go to the precinct and make their streets safer. It’s hers to do the laundry and the cleaning and the cooking and the mending and the shopping. Isn’t it?

“We haven’t really talked about it a lot lately. He’s been busy.” Jane has had quite enough of this conversation, so she steers it in another direction. “Earlier you asked what my favorite book is, but you can’t possibly expect me to pick.”

They continue in this safe vein for the duration of the meal. Petra doesn’t read a lot, but when she does, she enjoys Dickens. It doesn’t surprise Jane that Estella Havisham is one of Petra’s favorite fictional characters.

Once they’ve finished the gelato—Jane protests when Petra orders it, but Petra argues that she can’t possibly recommend a place if she doesn’t know for certain that the dessert is superb—Jane expects that they’ll head back to the Marbella. Petra has other plans.

“Would you like to go to the symphony?” she asks, smoothing her blue dress over her lap after they’ve climbed into the taxi. “They’re playing Beethoven and we’re already dressed for it.”

“Was this part of your plan all along?” Jane asks.

“It was certainly a possibility. And since we didn’t kill each other at dinner, I think we ought to celebrate, don’t you?” She preempts Jane’s next objection. “It won’t cost a dime. The conductor owes me a favor. But if you’d rather go home, that is, of course, a viable option.”

Jane has never been to the symphony. She’s been to symphonic concerts, but never to the New York Philharmonic. And while her preferred entertainment medium is books, she has a deep appreciation for the performed arts as well, passed on to her by her mother (and her father, too, it would seem). Although she would like to be strong and resist, it proves to be too tempting an offer.

When Jane agrees to the proposed plan, Petra turns her head away under the guise of telling the cabby where to take them. Jane sees her delighted smile reflected in the window all the same.

 

++++++

 

“That was magnificent!” Jane sighs happily. “I never knew that music could sound like that! It really seemed to fill my entire body, you know?”

They are back at the Marbella, each going about their nightly routines. Or at least, that’s what Jane is trying to do. She keeps floating around the suite, light as air, humming snatches of Beethoven. She stops behind Petra, who is taking out hairpins while seated in front of her vanity.

“Are you proud of me for not asking what favor the conductor owes you?” she teases.

That quick, disarmed smile flashes across Petra’s face and warmth ripples through Jane’s chest again.

“I was waiting for you to ask,” Petra says. “It’s nothing scandalous.”

“I know.” Jane isn’t sure why she feels this giddy when she hasn’t had a single sip of booze, but she doesn’t mind the feeling. It’s nice. “I struck up a conversation with the woman sitting next to us while you were in the powder room. She’s the conductor’s wife, did you know that? Well, his second wife. His first wife died, and when she was very sick, he passed you when you were playing her favorite song from the old country on the street one day. He asked if you would come to his home to play it for her. And you did and she was so divinely happy and you went back every single day to play it for her until she died, and you refused payment and he promised to return the favor one day.

“I know all of your secrets, Petra Andel. You want people to think that you’re heartless, but I know the truth.”

“You don’t know all my secrets,” Petra says dryly.

She starts heading towards the bathroom and Jane obstructs her path.

“I know the important ones,” Jane says.

Petra’s eyes search Jane’s face intently, although Jane can’t say for sure what she’s looking for.

“Would you like to know the most important one?”

Jane nods.

“Tonight is the happiest I’ve been in years,” Petra says, her voice low.

As soon as she’s finished, she steps around Jane and continues toward the bathroom. Jane gets the distinct impression that Petra’s trying to run from that last secret. But no one should ever run from happiness.

She grabs Petra’s wrist.

“Why does that have to be a secret?” she asks.

Jane watches as Petra gently pries her fingers away from her own slender wrist. She hesitates for a moment, then brings Jane’s hand up to her lips.

Tenderly, Petra presses a single kiss to Jane’s knuckles.

“It just does.”

And she finishes up getting ready for bed as if nothing has happened. Jane can do little more than stand there in the middle of the suite as if she’d been turned to stone. She has, of course, received many kisses over her lifetime—from her abuela, from her mother, from Lina, from other friends, from Michael, from other suitors. None of them felt quite like this one, though. She runs a finger over the spot where Petra’s soft lips had brushed against her skin.

She still hasn’t figured it out when Petra returns and snaps her out of her reverie, asking if it’s all right to turn off the lights.

Jane crawls under the covers—Petra is on the edge of the bed like she had been the night before—and tries to process what had happened and why it felt different. She should also be figuring out what she’s going to say to Xiomara the next time they see each other. The softness of the bed wins in the end and before she knows it, it’s already morning.

She gives Petra a light kiss on the forehead before she leaves the suite to go down to work. Again, she isn’t sure why, but she likes how Petra’s skin feels under her lips.

The quiet contemplation is shattered, however, when one of the maids comes screaming into the kitchen just after seven o’clock.

“It’s Mr. Emilio!” she shrieks. “He’s been murdered!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! You didn't really think I'd given up on the murder aspect of this story, did you? ;) 
> 
> Shout out to inamamagic for thinking of me when she saw [these dresses](http://usuallyproperlyhydrated.tumblr.com/post/144637141904/arnoldmoyoyo-usuallyproperlyhydrated-not), which inspired me to write a scene where Jane and Petra go out and about. They are so ridiculous. I wanted them to have a nice, delightful evening out, but Petra insisted on needling Jane and Jane wouldn't take it lying down.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading this! It's so comforting to know that there are other people out there who are also starved for this ship. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Miscellaneous facts:
> 
> -I couldn't decide what 1920's AU Jane's favorite book would be so I didn't even include my guesses. She'd appreciate Dickens and the Brontes, but she's such a romantic. _Pride and Prejudice_ maybe? Let me know what you think it would be.
> 
> -Petra's favorite book was super easy. _Great Expectations_ is the story of a poor kid who manages to rise above his squalid upbringing and become a gentleman. And Estella Havisham? She's a beautiful little girl who's raised by a bitter old woman to become a vain man-hater. Sound familiar? 
> 
> -(For the record, _Little Women_ is one of my all time favorite books. I couldn't not include that reference.)
> 
> -Tuition to Barnard in the 1920s was $250 a semester, which is roughly $2,800 in today's dollars. As a waitress, Jane would have earned $9 a week tops ($123 in today's dollars).


	10. Chapter 10

Detective Michael Cordero pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Miss Andel, if you would just cooperate—”

“I would be delighted to cooperate, officer, but I know my rights. I don’t have to tell you anything without my lawyer present.”

“You don’t _have_ a lawyer,” Patrolwoman Hansan tells her.

“Did you call Raf like I asked? Surely he’ll allow his fiancée to make use of the Solano family lawyer.”

“I’m sure he would if you were still his fiancée.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He asked me to tell you that he has officially broken off your engagement since you are currently being held as the prime suspect in the murder case of his father.”

“Typical,” Petra mutters.

She’s only been in the precinct for twenty minutes, but it’s felt like twenty hours to Michael. Even though she’s shackled to the table in one of the interrogation rooms, she’s still managing to act as though she’s running the show.

“I suppose you have evidence?”

She surveys Michael with her cool blue eyes. Despite the fact that she’s been brought in regarding the murder of her almost father-in-law and the fact that her fiancé has severed ties in a most impersonal way, she looks more inconvenienced than anything. Michael finds this incredibly suspicious. A normal woman would be in hysterics by now.

“Why don’t you tell us where you were last night between the hours of eleven p.m. and three a.m.?” he says, flipping his notebook open.

“How about a trade? You tell me on what evidence your investigation hinges on and then I’ll tell you where I was.”

“That isn’t how this sort of thing works.”

“No? Then it’s going to be a long day for the both of us.”

Michael supposes that she’s still irritated with him for bursting into her room while she was sleeping. It wasn’t like him to invade a woman’s privacy, but once he and Nadine had found what they had, it had become a necessary course of action. Besides, murderers don’t have the right to privacy.

He exchanges covert exasperated glances with Nadine and gives her a tiny nod. She slaps a newspaper article down on the table and pushes it towards Petra.

“Does this look familiar?”

“Good God, what an awful mugshot,” Petra says, picking up the clipping.

“Is it hard to see your mother in such an unflattering light?” Nadine asks.

“Ah, so you’ve discovered my ugly past. My mother, the crazed murderess.” She pushes the piece of paper back across the table. “Bravo, detectives. Really smashing work. I suppose next you’re going to tell me that I’m a Czech immigrant as well?”

“This isn’t public knowledge. Your mother gave her maiden name when the police picked her up and refused to give her real one. There’s nothing legally that suggests a bond between the two of you. The only reason we made the connection is that someone wrote your name at the bottom of the article as well as the dates you visited your mother at Sing Sing Prison.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as a little too convenient?”

“Did Mr. Solano confront you? Did he tell you that he knew about your mother’s crime?” Michael asks. “Did he threaten to tell your intended? Is that why you stabbed him in the heart?”

“He was stabbed then?” Petra’s eyes go sharp and she opens her mouth to ask a follow up question, but then thinks better of it.

“As if you didn’t already know. The weapon that killed him was a letter opener that Mr. Rafael gave to you on your last birthday.”

“It was, was it?” She gives a grim sort of smile. “How utterly magnificent. In that case, I had better give you my alibi so I can be on my way.”

“I think you had better.” Michael matches her grimness. “Although I wouldn’t be too sure that we’ll release you after hearing it. Alibis can be bought, as I’m sure you know.”

“And evidence can be circumstantial, as I’m sure _you_ know,” Petra returns sweetly. “Detective, I have a feeling that you won’t doubt my alibi for a single minute.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I was with Jane Villanueva all night.”

 

+++++

 

It’s been a nerve-wracking morning for Jane so far. After Mr. Solano’s murder had been announced, the police had all but shut down the hotel so they could conduct their investigation with minimal interruptions. The staff have once again been shepherded into the ballroom, some of the overnight workers being interrogated by lesser police officers while the other employees are left to swap rumors and misinformation.

“He was a mob boss, that’s why he was killed.”

“He was in financial trouble, he did it to himself.”

“He isn’t dead at all, it’s all just a racket.”

Some suspect Luisa of having done it, some suspect Rafael. Clara, the maid who found Mr. Emilio’s body, is mobbed the moment she was finished being questioned.

In this rampant storm of speculation, Xiomara finds Jane and pulls her into a tight embrace. It isn't the time to begin sorting through the Rogelio situation, but they hold each other’s hands as they try to make sense of what's going on.

Although there seem to be police officers everywhere, Jane can’t see Michael anywhere. She’s just about to come to the conclusion that he must still be working on Needle’s murder when one of the officers approaches her and says that she is to come with him to the precinct. Jane wrings her hands the whole ride there.

“Michael, what’s going on?” she asks as soon as she sees him standing on the steps of the headquarters, the sun glinting off of his badge.

“There’s nothing to worry about. We just have some questions for you.” He leads her to an interrogation room and invites her to sit down. “Can you tell me where you were last night?”

“Yes, of course. Let’s see, at about five o’ clock Petra asked me if I wanted to go to dinner, so we spent some time getting ready and ended up going out at about seven?” She tells him the name of the bistro they went to. “And then we went to the symphony.”

“And then she took you home at about eleven o’ clock?”

Jane shakes her head. “No, I went back to the hotel with her.”

“Why is that?”

It’s at that moment that Jane realizes that she hasn’t talked with Michael since she found out that Rogelio is her father. That, on top of the fact that she’s had to keep the true circumstances surrounding Needle’s death a secret, makes her feel further away from him than she’s ever felt. She has the urge to reach across the table and take his hand, just as she had when she was being questioned about Needle's death. But, again, she knows it would be inappropriate so she forbears.

“I got into a fight with my mom,” she tells him. “I would have stayed with Lina, but Petra offered to let me stay with her.”

She almost includes the part where Petra and Rafael were on the rocks and that’s why Petra didn’t dare offer Jane her own room. That doesn’t have anything to do with last night’s events, though, and Petra’s pride would be mortally wounded if Jane ever told anyone about it. So Jane keeps that bit to herself.

“Did you sleep in the same room?” Michael asks.

“Yes. Last night and the night before.”

“And did she leave the room last night at any time?”

It dawns on Jane why she’s here, why she’s been asked to account for her whereabouts on the night of the murder. They’re checking to see if her story aligns with the one Petra must have told them.

“Michael, you don’t think Petra killed Mr. Solano, do you?”

“Please answer the question, Jane.”

He still looks like the kind Michael she fell in love with. That’s what makes it so hard to see a new Michael—or perhaps a Michael that was there all along—that’s more than slightly ruthless in his pursuit of justice.

“No, she didn’t leave the room at any time.”

“Not even to go to…” Michael blushes in such an innocent way that it makes Jane’s heart twist. “Not even to use the facilities?”

“No. I would have woken up if she had.”

Jane’s mind is being pulled towards other things. Does this have to do with Sin Rostro? Has he framed Petra for Mr. Solano’s murder? Or—Jane’s blood freezes—had Mr. Solano been Sin Rostro all along? Had Petra found out and decided to take matters into her own hands? No, she wouldn’t have.

Would she?

Would it have been morally wrong of her to kill someone who had already killed someone?

“Did you know that her mother is in jail for murder?” Michael interrupts her thoughts.

“Yes.”

He clearly hadn’t been expecting that answer and he frowns. That was supposed to change Jane’s mind about Petra, to make her change her story about last night.

“Can I see her?” Jane asks. “Wait, sorry, that is, if you’re done with your questions.”

Michael tells her that he’s done for the time being, but he might ask her back at a later time, which she says she understands. He leads her to Petra’s holding cell, although he doesn’t open the door. Jane gazes at Petra through the bars. She’s sitting on a rough wooden bench, her back straight as can be. Even though she hadn’t been given time to get ready before being dragged down to the station, she still looks radiant. It isn’t fair.

“Jane.” Petra is surprised to see her and it shows on her face. “What brings you here?”

“Are you all right?” Jane wraps a hand around the cold metal.

“I would be a lot better if you were coming to tell me that my alibi checked out with Officer Sweetheart there.”

“It checks out,” is all Michael says.

“And yet I don’t hear the key in the lock.”

“The physical evidence is too compelling.”

“Ah, yes. The convenient newspaper article and the letter opener that literally anyone could have gotten access to.”

“Is that true?” Jane whips around to face Michael.

“We’re dusting for fingerprints.”

“Do you have a motive?”

“He found out that she’s related to an infamous murderer and threatened to expose her.”

Petra scoffs from inside her cell.

“If Emilio Solano had known about my connection to Magda the Mad, he would have gone straight to Rafael, not to me. And Rafael wouldn’t have bothered with murdering Emilio because all Raf wants is to be free of his engagement to me. He’d be delighted for a reason to do so.

“Although, now that I think about it, if anyone has a motive to murder Mr. Solano, it’s his son. Mr. Solano was the one pushing Raf’s marriage to me, and Mr. Solano took control of the Marbella away from Rafael, which Raf resented. And if that isn’t enough to convince you, Luisa was cut out of his will, so Rafael will inherit everything.” Petra folds her hands primly in her lap, although her eyes are burning with cold fury. “If you want someone with motive, look no further than my former fiancé.

“And,” she continues, “since I’m doing your job for you, the same evidence that makes you so sure that I did it also paints Rafael in unflattering light. He has access to my office, which is where the letter opener was kept. And while he was looking for reasons to end things with me, I highly doubt finding out that my mother is a murderer would have been an easy thing for him to accept. If his father did find out that I’m the daughter of a murderer, I doubt Rafael would have wanted that to get out.

“Do I think Raf did it? Of course not. He’s all talk and no action. But if you’re going to wrongfully imprison anyone, I think you should at least consider him.”

That shuts Michael up and he takes Jane away from the cell, but Jane refuses to leave until Petra’s been released. Thankfully Petra’s state-assigned lawyer shows up some half an hour later and the police are warned that she can only be held for so long without being charged. Michael takes the edict very seriously and gears up to go look for more evidence at the hotel. Before he leaves, he tries to persuade Jane one last time.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“The hotel’s been shut down. It isn’t as though I’d be doing anyone any good there.”

“She might be a murderer.”

“She’s not.”

“Jane…”

“Don’t you have the real murderer to catch?”

When she’s certain that he’s gone for good, Jane sweetly asks one of the clerks if she can go sit with Petra. It takes very little convincing since the receptionist has so much on her plate already that a persistent civilian is something she’s willing to get out of the way.

Jane isn’t allowed to sit inside the cell, of course, but she is allowed to resume her spot just outside the bars. Once the receptionist is gone, she addresses Petra quietly.

“Do you think this is _his_ doing?”

“It must be,” Petra replies. “Although I can’t imagine why. I did what he asked.”

“Really?” While Jane had been sitting there in the precinct’s waiting room, wondering if this was Sin Rostro’s doing, she couldn’t help but ask herself if maybe the attack had been provoked. Perhaps Petra hadn’t been as forthcoming about the status of her speakeasy as she’d claimed. After all, Jane had been thrown into Petra’s orbit by following a thread that led to a web of carefully-crafted lies. Who's to say that she isn't lying now? "Did you truly do as he asked?" 

“You defended me to your fiancé,” Petra says, her tone icy. “Did you not mean it?”

“I said you weren’t a murderer,” Jane shoots back. “I didn’t say that you weren’t an opportunist who would do anything for a buck and also happens to have stepped on the toes of one of the city’s most dangerous criminals!”

“Is that what you think of me?”

It shouldn’t be a complicated question, but it is. Jane has two versions of Petra in her head—one is conniving and unfeeling, exactly as she said. The other one is softer and much more fleeting. This is the Petra whose genuine smiles only come out when she thinks no one is watching.

“Did you open _it_ back up again?” Jane persists.

“No!”

Jane searches Petra’s face for any trace of falsehood only to finally admit to herself that she can’t tell if Petra is lying or not.

“Can you think of any reason he might be upset with you? Because he certainly seems to have your number.”

There. A flicker in Petra’s face. Is it doubt? The beginning of a lie?

“I didn’t technically go against his wishes.”

“ _Dios mio_.” Jane just stops her hands from crossing herself. “What does that mean?”

“I didn’t open it back up.”

“But?”

“I made a few calls to see if I could find any potential buyers.”

“Petra!”

“Technically he warned me away from continuing the endeavor, not from selling it to the highest bidder. I would have asked for clarification, but he’s damn hard to get ahold of.” Petra lets out a little sigh. “At least now I know what he meant when he said he would make my life unpleasant in every way possible.”

“You have to tell the police what you know.”

“Are we back at this again? Honestly, Jane, if he’s this upset that I tried to turn a profit by selling the joint, what do you think he’ll do when he finds out I’ve snitched to the authorities? He’s probably got some last piece of evidence that will put me away for good. Besides,” she continues bitterly, “it’s not as if the police are going to believe the daughter of a murderer.”

“So you’re going to rot in jail for a crime you didn’t commit?”

“Well it isn’t as though I have the funds to hire a decent lawyer, and the police seem less than inclined to find the real culprit.”

“I’m sure they would be more inclined if you cooperated with them.”

“I’m not going to cooperate with them.”

“I know!” Jane is thoroughly frustrated by the whole conversation. “I know you won’t! Because you’re stubborn and you think that the whole world is out to get you!”

Petra's face grows inscrutable and she turns to stare at the cinderblock wall at the back of the cell.

“You can leave now. I can handle this myself. Go talk with your mother. Make things right. Life is short.”

“Petra—”

But Petra won’t listen. She turns her back on Jane more fully and pretends not to be able to hear. Jane resists the urge to rattle the bars in frustration on her way out.

 

+++++

 

She ends up taking Petra’s advice and finding her mother at the Marbella. They find a secluded spot in the hotel and Jane tells Xiomara about everything.

“This Sin Rostro means business and I don’t understand why Petra’s being so difficult,” Jane concludes. “She ought to cooperate with the police, right?”

“I don’t know, Jane.” Xiomara had listened to Jane’s story with wide eyes, interjecting at key points with expressions of disbelief and surprise. Jane had been expecting her mother to be completely on her side. “If she admits to running a speakeasy, she’ll most likely go to jail anyway.”

“Yes, but not for murder! And what if she gets the police to make a deal with her?”

“It sounds like Michael isn’t interested in that.”

“Michael isn’t the only officer involved in the investigation. I—we—she could talk to someone else, someone who seems less prejudiced against her.” Because, as much as it pains Jane to admit it, Michael is prejudiced against Petra. It doesn’t seem to be just the evidence making him that way either. He seems to have a fundamental dislike of her. “And who knows? Maybe they’ll change their tune after hearing that Petra’s been contacted by Sin Rostro. They’ll put all of their efforts into finding him and cut her a deal for working with them.”

“But she won’t work with them.”

“I know! I know. She’s worried that Sin Rostro will kill her for doing that.”

Xiomara is quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Then she speaks. “Are you certain that she’s worried that Sin Rostro will kill her?”

The question confuses Jane at first. “Of course. What else would she be worried about? Like you said, she’s already going to go to jail and she doesn’t seem at all bothered about that.”

“If Sin Rostro wanted her dead, don’t you think she would already be dead?”

Now that Jane thinks about it, her mother is right. Sin Rostro appears to have ample access to all facets of Petra Andel’s life, from her speakeasy to her office at the Marbella. If he’d wanted her dead, there were probably a thousand ways he could have accomplished that by now. And yet he’d chosen to kill her bootlegger and her fiancé’s father.

“He’s a monster,” Jane says. “He doesn’t have to have reasons to do anything.”

Xiomara nods, but it’s obvious that her mind isn’t on what Jane just said. Her eyes show that her thoughts are far away.

“Would you like to know what happened when Rogelio got me in the family way?” she asks.

Jane is taken aback. She hadn’t been expecting this conversation to happen here and now. As much as she’d yearned for it, yearned to know about her mother’s reasoning and the real circumstances of her birth, she’d been resigned to having it later, after all of this is over. But since her mother is offering the information voluntarily, Jane can do little else besides nod.

“I was young,” Xiomara says. “He was young. Not much younger than some other people are when they get married, but we felt young.” She doesn’t mention how quickly the feeling left as Jane grew inside of her. She still felt scared then, but she didn’t feel young. “He wasn’t ready to be a father. He wasn’t ready to be a husband. He wanted to do so many things, and none of them involved having a wife and child so soon.

“So he offered to take me to a place that would…end the pregnancy. I knew girls who had done that, of course, and I knew the kind of things that happened to them. Some of them recovered just fine, but some of them ended up bleeding out on the bathroom floor. It was impossible to tell which kind of girl I would be. And I didn’t want to find out.

“I refused his offer and we fought. I told him that if he didn’t want to be involved in the baby’s life—in your life—he didn’t have to be. So he didn’t. He ended up leaving the city with some traveling circus and that was the last I’d heard of him until we saw him in that play.”

Jane had known in her heart that something like this must have happened, but to hear it all laid out in front of her still hurts more than she can say. She had thought that her father had left because his loyalty to his countrymen was stronger than his loyalty to his own progeny, but that both loyalties were almost equally strong. Now it turns out that her father had loved himself and his freedom more than he’d been willing to love her.

“Jane, honey, I didn’t want you to grow up thinking that your father didn’t want you,” Xiomara says. “You’re so precious to me, so special. If he’d come to know you, I knew he would have loved you. He just never gave you a chance. So I invented a father for you who wouldn’t be such a disappointment. I honestly never thought that Rogelio would ever come back.

“And now that he’s met you, Rogelio feels just how much he’s missed. He wants to make things right. That’s where I was going all those nights—to meet up with him to discuss if he should be allowed back into your life.” She takes Jane’s hand. “We hadn’t come to a conclusion before you accidentally found out. I am so sorry that that’s how it happened for you. You deserved better.”

Now that Jane’s heard everything, she expects to feel some kind of relief. The truth has come out, and she has some semblance of closure. All she feels is sadness, though. Maybe one day she’ll understand it fully and heal enough to want to associate with her father again. All she can do is hope that time will lessen the pain.

Until then, she still has a rather pressing issue at hand.

“Ma, what do I do about Petra?”

“People will do all sorts of things to protect those they care about. It doesn’t always make sense, and it doesn’t always work out in the way they think it will.”

Jane suddenly understands why her mother told her the true story about her father. “You think Petra is trying to protect someone.”

“I do. Once you find out who it is and how to keep them out of Sin Rostro’s grasp, I think you might be able to persuade her to be more amiable with the police.”

“You’re wonderful,” Jane says, giving Xiomara’s cheek a kiss.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me,” Xiomara says. She holds her daughter’s gaze, tears in both sets of eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth. I love you too.”

 

+++++

 

“Jane!” Michael rushes to catch her just as she’s leaving the Marbella’s lobby. “Where are you going?”

“To see Petra.”

“Again?”

“I think I know how to get her to cooperate with you.”

“You know how to get her to confess?”

“She didn’t murder Mr. Solano,” Jane replies testily.

“Jane, she’s the daughter of a murderer—”

So Petra’s the daughter of a murderer. She’s also a scheming businesswoman who has been operating an illegal bar for who knows how long. She’s stubborn and she takes unnecessary risks and sometimes, quite frankly, she drives Jane crazy. But in spite of all that, she’s also the kind of person who is generous with her friends—for Jane likes to think that they are friends—and has a soft spot that very few people can access. Jane can’t forget the story of the dying woman Petra played her violin for and wonders how many other stories like that Petra is keeping to herself.

“She’s not her mother, Michael,” Jane says. “She’s her own person and she deserves to be thought of as innocent until proven guilty. Did you find any fingerprints?”

“I’m not really supposed to be discussing details of the case with you…”

Jane fixes him with a hard look. He’d been fine doing just that until he found out her opinions on Petra’s innocence. Clearly Michael wants to avoid a fight. Jane isn’t going to let that happen. She stares at him until he answers.

“Lots.”

“Any belonging to Petra?”

“No,” he admits reluctantly. “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t do it. She could have been wearing gloves.”

“Any belonging to Rafael?”

When Michael doesn’t respond right away, Jane has her answer. She doesn’t think that Rafael did it any more than she thinks Petra did it, but that doesn’t mean that Rafael shouldn’t be subjected to the same kind of interrogation process.

“I always thought you were a good cop,” she says. “Good at your job and good as a person. I was so proud to know you, so proud to know that you were out there, protecting our streets.”

“Jane, I am protecting our streets—”

She cuts him off. “No you’re not. You’re protecting your own interests or your own ego.”

“I’m protecting _you_ ,” he says desperately. Michael looks furious at himself for letting that slip out, which makes Jane think that there’s more to the story than he’s saying.

There are too many people milling about in the lobby. She takes his arm and drags him into a supply closet.

“Explain.”

“You asked me about Sin Rostro a while back,” he says. “And I said I didn’t know anything about him, but the truth is that I’ve been working on tracking him down ever since I was promoted to detective. He’s a dangerous man, Jane. The trail of corpses he’s left behind… It’s enough to make some of our hardest officers have nightmares.

“When you asked what I knew about him, I thought you’d heard his name on the street. But once I learned that Petra is the daughter of Magda the Mad, I realized that you asked about him just as you and Petra started getting close. If she’s involved with Sin Rostro, you aren’t safe.” He puts his hands on her shoulders. “And I would do anything to protect you from that kind of influence.”

“Oh.” Jane is moved by Michael’s admission and suddenly his recent behavior—his virulent dislike of Petra—makes sense. It doesn’t make his bias any less wrong, but it does explain things.

Something else clicks as well.

If Michael is worried that Sin Rostro might target Jane because of her closeness to Petra, wouldn’t it also make sense for Petra to have the same worry?

“Michael, I have something to tell you. But you have to swear to hear me out before saying anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little bit longer than average to update. I got a nasty case of writer's block that could only be solved with time and busting out a vaguely coherent 1.5k word brainstorm. Thank you for your patience and kind comments and kudos. <3
> 
> Let me know what you think! (
> 
> I think this is the pre-penultimate chapter, as this story will probably end up being 12 chapters. It might be longer, though. We'll see!)


	11. Chapter 11

“We’re prepared to make a deal with you, Miss Andel.”

Detective Cordero and Patrolwoman Hansan are back in Petra’s cell where she’s keeping herself occupied with reading the varied scratchings on the wall. She hasn’t seen either of the police officers for a few hours now and is certain that they’ve spent their time gathering more falsified evidence against her. The offer of a deal is surprising.

“My confession in exchange for… What?” Petra asks. “Shorter jail time?”

“We want to know everything about your interactions with Sin Rostro,” Patrolwoman Hansan says.

Even though this development is unexpected, Petra keeps her face smooth. Jane told Officer Sweetheart. Jane went against her express wishes. And now if something goes wrong, it’s going to be Jane who pays the price. Petra’s stomach gives a sickening twist.

“I don’t know anything about Sin Rostro.”

“We know about the note and the threats,” Michael says. “We know that the John Doe who was found in his truck in the river was one of your alcohol suppliers. We know that he was killed to send a message to you.”

“If you know all this, why do you need to hear it from me?”

“Did you keep the note he sent you? Could he possibly be one of your associates from the speakeasy business? Or even the hotel business?”

Petra keeps her mouth shut. If the police haven’t caught up with Sin Rostro by now, nothing she says will shed any kind of light on his identity or his whereabouts. It will only put people in danger.

“We’ve removed Jane Villanueva and her family to a safe house,” Michael says, breaking through Petra’s thoughts. “If anything in this investigation goes sour, she won’t be in any immediate danger.”

“What makes you think I care about Jane Villanueva?” Petra asks in a would-be casual voice. “If anything, I’m worried about my own skin.”

Michael gives her a hard look. Even though he’s offering to cut a deal, he isn’t too pleased that he has to work closely with her.

“It’s a precaution we’ve got to take with all close associates of those working to bring Sin Rostro down,” Patrolwoman Hansan says. “My brother’s been sent out west until this thing is over. Miss Villanueva has been removed because she’s closest to Detective Cordero, and we would be happy to encourage the Solano family to take a long trip if that would make you cooperate.”

“The Solanos can rot,” Petra snaps. The inconsiderate way in which Rafael broke off their engagement still stings. But he isn’t the only Solano. “Once the funeral is taken care of, perhaps advise Luisa to get out of town.”

“And Mrs. Solano?” Michael asks.

“Excuse me?”

“It turns out that Mr. Solano married his fiancée last weekend in the courthouse. She was all but inconsolable when we questioned her at the hotel. She said that she had been with Luisa all night and that if she’d been with Emilio, maybe this horrible thing would have happened.”

“Did she say why she and Emilio didn’t have a big ceremony or why they didn’t tell the rest of us that they got married?”

“Does this mean that you’ll help us with our investigation?” Patrolwoman Hansan asks.

“This doesn’t have any bearing on your investigation. I’m asking for my own curiosity.”

This isn’t strictly true. While it would have made a great difference a day ago for Petra to be supplanted as the matriarch of the Solano family, it’s all but meaningless now. Except for one thing. If Rose was telling the truth about her marriage—which will no doubt be confirmed or denied by the police when they check the records at the city clerk’s office—that will shake up the Solano inheritance politics considerably. Luisa will still get nothing, but Rafael and Rose will have to split all of Emilio’s assets. Or, if Emilio changed his will in the past week, Rose could get everything.

Perhaps this crime doesn’t have to do with Sin Rostro at all. Perhaps it’s just been made to look like it.

“If I agree to assist you, you’ll drop all charges?”

“Yes.” Michael doesn’t look happy about it.

Petra doesn’t ask for confirmation that Jane is safe. The fewer people who know about her weakness, the better.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

Once Petra’s told the police everything she knows— _Sin Rostro is_ not _Buster Keaton; no, of course I didn’t keep the note, I burned it like any sensible person would; I’d rather not go ask my mother what else she knows about Sin Rostro, if you’re that curious you can damn well go ask her yourself_ —she’s told that she’s free to go as long as she keeps in touch with the police.

“Where can I find you?” Michael asks, opening the door of her cell.

“Seeing as I’m probably no longer welcome at the Marbella and I don’t have any friends who’d be willing to put me up since I’ve been accused of murder, your guess is as good as mine.” Petra’s been living at the Marbella since her engagement to Rafael. Before that, she’d been staying in one of Milos’ properties, which isn’t exactly police-friendly. And that’s assuming that Milos allows her to stay with him at all. He was less than pleased when she announced her engagement. And staying at The Gem is out of the question. “Perhaps I’ll see if I can stay with my former future sister-in-law. I’ll give you a ring in the morning.”

“Would you like a police escort to accompany you until you find somewhere to stay?” Michael asks stiffly, making it very clear that he’s asking out of duty and not the kindness of his heart.

Petra waves a hand at him. “I wouldn’t want to cause the police any further unnecessary inconveniences. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Officer Cordero and Patrolwoman Hansan insist on driving Petra as far as Luisa’s house on the grounds that she, Petra, is an invaluable asset to their investigation and they can’t take the chance that she might get popped by one of Sin Rostro’s associates or mugged by a random passerby.

She does not thank them for the lift.

Luisa doesn’t answer her door, so Petra lets herself inside with the spare key. She follows the sounds of the radio which are coming from the sitting room and finds Luisa sitting in a chair, staring at a bottle of who-knows-what.

“Hello, Luisa,” Petra says to announce her presence since Luisa didn’t stir when she walked in.

Luisa’s shoulders jump a tiny bit, but other than that she remains still.

“Hello, Petra. Did they let you go?”

“They did.”

“Good.” A pause. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“I didn’t.”

“I didn’t think so.” Luisa gestures at the chair next to her. “Have a seat.”

Petra complies. She stares at the bottle too, trying to figure out why it’s fascinating Luisa like this. Finally, she has to ask.

“What’s in there?”

“Alcohol.”

“Is there a reason you’re looking at it instead of drinking it?”

“I’m giving up drinking. As penance.”

Petra shoots Luisa a quick, assessing glance, wondering if that was a confession. Did Luisa kill her father? The thought had never even crossed Petra’s mind. Luisa was a mess in most ways, but she isn’t violent. Not even when she drinks and gets out of control. Sure, she had once punched a man on the street when she was intoxicated, but that was because he wouldn’t leave her alone.

“Rose married my father,” Luisa continues in the absence of a response from Petra.

“I heard about that.”

“A whole week ago. She said she wouldn’t. But she did. I found out from Raf. He found out from the police.”

“She didn’t say anything when she was here last night?”

“She wasn’t here last night.” Luisa’s voice cracks. “I lied to the police. They asked me to confirm that Rose was with me, even though she wasn’t, and I did. That’s why I have to do penance. I lied to the police.”

“Rose lied to them first.”

“My dad is dead. My dad is dead and my lover is my stepmother and I told the police I was with her and _I wasn’t_ and what if Rose killed him?” Luisa turns her tear-filled eyes towards Petra. “What if she didn’t want to marry him but he made her and then last night he found out about us or he wanted to hurt her and she killed him in self-defense?”

“If she killed him in self-defense, she needs to tell the police.” Assuming it was self-defense. Mrs. Emilio Solano is going to come into a huge chunk of change once everything is sorted out. Although Petra believes that Rose is far more calculating than others seem to think, she doesn’t want to say as much to Luisa and upset her further.

“I don’t know if I can talk to her,” Luisa says miserably. “I might start crying or yelling or screaming or not be able to say anything at all.”

“I’ll go with you.” Petra only feels marginally guilty that she’s using one of her only friends to further a police investigation.

“Thanks, Petra.”

 

+++++

 

The phone rings and Jane jumps up to answer it.

“Michael? Is everything all right? Did she agree to it?”

Michael assures her that everything is going according to plan and asks her how they’ve settled in. The safe house in question is a hotel room on the other side of the city, one that is somewhere between upscale and seedy. Neither Xiomara nor Alba is thrilled with the relocation, but they agree that it’s better than getting murdered in their beds by gangsters. Michael had assured them that it wasn’t going to be permanent; they would only have to stay there until Sin Rostro is captured.

(Alba is understandably bewildered as to how they got mixed up with a mob boss in the first place. Jane explains everything that’s happened since Xiomara began working at the speakeasy— _Xiomara, cómo pudiste mentirme?_ —and ends with saying that someone’s framed Petra for Mr. Solano’s murder.)

“You’ve got guards watching her around the clock, don’t you?” Jane asks.

“She refused that kind of protection.”

“So? It isn’t her job to decide that she’s safe enough—it’s yours.”

“I’m starting to think that you care more about Petra than you care about me,” Michael says with a laugh. It’s an uneasy one, and Jane can tell even over the crackly phone line.

“Oh, Michael, that’s not it. It’s just that this is something you do all the time. Petra’s not used to this kind of peril.”

“She ran a speakeasy and her mother’s a murderer. I’m sure she can take care of herself.”

“Just make sure she’s safe, okay?”

“I will. I’ll call you with updates. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 

+++++

 

“I can’t do it.”

Luisa’s hand has been hovering a few inches from the door leading to Rose’s suite in the Marbella for the past thirty seconds.

“I’ll do it then.”

Petra’s sympathy for Luisa’s plight only goes so far, so she raps briskly on the door without waiting for Luisa to regroup.

Rose, resplendent in a black silk dressing gown, opens it. Her eyes are red rimmed and her hair is in carefully crafted disarray.

“Luisa,” she says, her voice wobbling. “Luisa, are you here to go over funeral plans? And what is _she_ doing here? The police think she’s the one who killed my beloved—”

“Save the theatrics,” Petra says. “All of their evidence is circumstantial and I was never charged.”

She brushes past Rose and enters the room. Luisa stays frozen in the doorframe, unable to tear her eyes away from her former lover. Rose contemplates her for a moment, then invites her in. Luisa sits next to Petra on a day couch and fixes her stare on the floor.

“You weren’t with me the night Dad died.”

“Yes I was.” Rose sets her mouth into a pretty pout. “Remember? We were…talking.”

“I don’t remember,” Luisa says, still not looking up.

“You, ah, had quite a lot to drink, so I imagine—”

“You didn’t come see me at all last week. We had plans to go to the museum, but you canceled. You were probably too busy with your new—” Luisa can barely get the word out, she looks so nauseated, “—husband.”

At this she breaks down into sobs and begins speaking incoherently. Petra’s just about to usher her out the door when Rose joins them on the couch and puts an arm around Luisa. Luisa flinches away halfheartedly.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” she says miserably. “You liar, you _said_ you wouldn’t marry him, you said you’d say _no_. You said you loved _me_.”

Rose shoots Petra a suspicious glance and Petra rolls her eyes.

“I know about your love affair. Don’t worry, I’m not about to call the police on you.”

Reassured, Rose touches Luisa’s face tenderly.

“Oh, Luisa, Luisa,” Rose coos. “I do love you. I love you more than anyone else in the world. It was never my intention to hurt you. I didn’t _want_ to marry your father but—”

Luisa looks up at Rose through wet lashes. “But what?”

“I don’t think I should say anything more, it will just get you in trouble—” When it becomes apparent that neither Luisa nor Petra is going to let it go, Rose continues. “I know you loved your father, even though he could be a beast, but there are some things you don’t know about him.”

“Like what?” Petra asks.

A glimmer of annoyance flashes across Rose’s face before she replaces it with a grim smile. “His money didn’t only come from the hotel business. He had dealings with very unsavory men who ran all sorts of unsavory businesses.”

“Like speakeasies?”

“One or two. They also owned brothels and gambling dens and offered so-called protection to certain businesses.”

“What did my dad do with them?” Luisa wipes her eyes on a proffered hankie.

“I don’t know,” Rose admits. “I accidentally walked in on him having a conversation with a man I’d never seen before and Emilio flew off the handle. He started shouting and swearing and told me to get out. I did as he said and the next time I saw him he was agitated.”

“When was this?” Petra asks.

“A little over a week ago.”

“Just before the wedding,” Luisa says.

“Yes. The next day he said he didn’t want to wait any longer and that we needed to get married straight away.” Rose meets Luisa’s eyes imploringly. “I told him no, I really did. I said I wasn’t quite ready to take that step and he grabbed my arm very hard and said that if I didn’t marry him he’d throw me out on the streets and tell the police that I was a woman of the night.”

“He didn’t,” Luisa gasps.

“He did. I’ve never been more terrified in my life so I married him.”

If this is true—and Petra isn’t about to take Rose at her word—one possible reason that Emilio would want to marry Rose was so that she couldn’t testify against him. Whoever he’d been speaking to, he must have been well-connected enough to be really damning in a case against Emilio if Rose was a witness. Even if Rose herself hadn’t realized just how damning it would be.

Luisa sits up straighter, as if her heart has been partially mended by this tale. “Where were you the night before last then?”

“I was here in my room. Emilio made me promise to keep our marriage a secret for now and we didn’t want to raise any eyebrows by moving in together quite yet.”

“He didn’t want to spend the night with you?” Petra asks sardonically.

“Of course he did,” Rose shoots back, “but he said he had some business to attend to before he could go to sleep. He said he would call for me when he was finished. But he never called.”

“Did you ever see that man again?” Petra asks. “The one you saw speaking with Emilio?”

“No.”

“Do you know who his meeting was with?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police this?” Luisa asks, clasping Rose’s hand. “Why did you tell them that you were with me?”

“Because I wish I had been!” Rose says fervently. “And I got nervous when the police were talking with me; they wanted to know everything but I didn’t want to tell them that Emilio had threatened me. What if that made me look like a suspect? What if they think I killed him because he threatened me?”

“You have to go talk to them,” Luisa says. “We have to find out who did this.”

“And the police—” Rose’s voice falters as she looks at Petra, “—they’re certain that she didn’t do it?”

“Fairly certain,” Petra says coolly.

Something flickers in Rose’s eyes, then she turns to Luisa and places a kiss on their joined hands.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to go tell the police what I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry it's been forever since I updated. I always get the worst writer's block during show hiatuses. I hope this is worth the wait :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petra and Sin Rostro finally meet face to face

They decide to wait until the next morning to tell the police what Rose knows. Petra’s fine with that because she’s had her fill of police stations lately and, honestly, Mr. Solano isn’t getting any deader. His murderer will be just as difficult to pin down in ten hours as he is now.

Rose and Luisa sleep in Rose’s room and, rather than be subjected to listen to whatever acrobatic makeup routine they undoubtedly have in store, Petra opts to sleep down the hall in Luisa’s room. She keeps an eye out for Rafael and rogue murderers on her way there, but the halls are quiet as can be. Normally Petra feels comforted by hotel’s muted atmosphere after hours. Tonight, though, it’s setting her on edge. As soon as she gets to Luisa’s room, she snicks the lock in place. She looks around for something—anything—to use as a weapon in case Sin Rostro comes knocking. A gun would be ideal, or even a knife, but there’s nothing of the sort to be found. Petra grabs a poker from the fireplace and holds it in firmly in her right hand. She falls asleep like this, with her back stiff against the headboard.

“Petra. _Petra_.”

Just as Petra’s half-asleep mind is about to bash the intruder’s brains in, the voice in the dark registers. Petra squints blearily and makes out Rose’s frantic face not two inches from her own. Sometime during the night, Petra’s given up her vigilant post and sprawled across the bed, poker still in hand, still wearing the clothes she wore the day before.

“What is it?” Petra asks, rubbing her eyes with her poker-free hand.

“It’s Luisa,” Rose chokes. “She’s gone!”

That gets Petra’s attention. She sits bolt upright, her hand tightening around her only weapon.

“How? When? Who?” she shoots at Rose.

“I don’t know.” More tears threaten to spill down Rose’s cheeks and unlike the ones shed over Mr. Solano’s death, Petra is inclined to believe that these ones are real. “I don’t know. I woke up just a few minutes ago and she was gone!”

“And you’re sure she’s not in the washroom?” Petra asks.

“I checked everywhere!” Rose’s voice is edging closer towards hysteria.

“All right, all right.” Petra can’t have Rose losing her head, not now. “Stay here. I’ll go check the room. See if you missed anything.”

Rather than protest, Rose just nods miserably. Petra takes her weapon and tells Rose to lock the door behind her. Come to think of it, she ought to have told Rose and Luisa to lock their door before leaving them alone. Her mind had been so occupied with getting out of there before the clothes came off that she didn’t even think about it. It was thoughtless of her.

Luisa is nowhere to be found in Rose’s room. The bed is in shambles, with pillows everywhere and sweaty, twisted sheets. Petra checks underneath the bed (weirder things have happened), in the closet, and in the washroom. She’s just about to go back to Luisa’s room and report her findings when she sees the note on the back of the door. It’s Marbella stationery and Petra recognizes the handwriting.

“ _You thought I wouldn’t know about your cooperation with the police?_ ” it says. “ _I have ears and eyes everywhere. And hands, too. I’ve taken Luisa and unless you want her to suffer for your stupidity, meet me at the place that started it all. Come alone. S.R._ ”

“Dammit.” Petra crumples up the note reflexively. Then she realizes that it’s evidence, so she folds it carefully and puts it in her pocket.

“Did you find her?” Rose asks, half-eager and half-fearful, after letting Petra back in the room.

“No. But I know where she is.” Petra tosses the poker onto the hearth. It lands on the carpet with an unsatisfying “thud.” She’ll have no use for that in her meeting, not when Sin Rostro already has the upper hand.

“Where is she? I’ll get her myself! I’ll call the cops if I have to, I’ll—”

“Sin Rostro has her. And he wants to talk to me before letting her go. Don’t call the cops. Stay here with the door locked.”

“But—”

Petra sighs. She wishes she had something better to wear to meet Sin Rostro face to face in. This crumpled outfit won’t impress him in the slightest.

“I’ll be back before dawn,” she says. “Or Luisa will. One of us. And if not, call the cops and tell them everything.” Petra hands the ransom note to Rose. “Give them this. Tell them to go to The Gem. One of their rummies in lockup will know it.”

“Are you sure?” Rose is looking at Petra like she’s not exactly the white knight type.

“No,” sighs Petra. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”

And before she can change her mind, Petra leaves Rose in Luisa’s room and heads down to the street. She gives the doorman a half-nod, daring him to make a comment about her presence there. He doesn’t, so she continues on her way.

She’s made the walk from the Marbella to The Gem probably hundreds of times at all hours of the day. Tonight, though, the streets seem extra quiet. Perhaps they know that it’ll be her last walk. Everything that she’s worked for is going to dissipate after this meeting. Either Sin Rostro will kill her or he’ll take the only thing in the world she can call her own.

Petra eases the door of the abandoned shop open and wonders why she didn’t bother trying to make it a legitimate business front. Maybe she could still live off the profits from selling wigs or hats or whatever now that both of her careers have been shot to pieces. She opens the door leading down to the interior of The Gem and brushes her hand down the railing. It looks pretty good for something she salvaged from a scrapyard.

Her heels clack on the dance floor, filling the empty space and bouncing off the ceiling. There’s no sign of Sin Rostro anywhere.

“I’m here,” she says. She sounds more nonchalant than she feels. “Let Luisa go.”

“Petra?”

Petra whips her head around to the bar area, where she sees…

“Rose?” She tilts her head to the side. “I told you to stay back at the hotel. Why—”

And then it hits her. Rose approaches, batting her eyelashes at Petra, but she can’t hide the cunning in her eyes, the calculating smirk lingering around her lips.

“Of course.” Petra resists the urge to sink into one of the chairs ringing the dance floor. “Of course. I’ve been an idiot. And Luisa?”

“Back at the Marbella.” Rose flashes her teeth in the imitation of a grin. “Sleeping soundly in one of the guest rooms.”

“So which came first?” Petra asks. “Sin Rostro or this gold-digging façade?”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.” Rose saunters over and gestures to a chair. “Please, sit.”

She has a gun in her hand, so Petra’s rebellious streak is tempered by her survival instinct.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side for a very long time, Petra Andel. Not only did you encroach on my alcohol distribution ring, you also escaped my attempts to frame you for murder not once but twice.”

“There was a very simple solution to all of that, you know,” Petra says. “You could have talked to me instead of trying to get me thrown into prison.”

“And I suppose you would have welcomed my offer to buy you out.”

Petra gives her a tight smile. “I’m sure we could’ve come to some kind of agreement. In fact, it’s not too late for us to come to an agreement now. Why don’t we say that you get…oh, I don’t know, forty percent of my profits?”

“Forty percent?” Rose laughs. “At least give me something worth my time. I’ve got enterprises all across the city and if you think that forty percent of your measly profits is worth my time or your life… Well, you’re gravely mistaken.”

The slight against The Gem stings. “If it’s so measly, why bother shutting it down at all?” Petra snaps. “Why couldn’t you let me have this one thing when you have so much already?”

Rose steps forward and Petra braces herself, sure that she’s going to be hit. But Rose only runs a finger lightly down Petra’s cheek.

“It’s about the principle,” she murmurs. “I own these streets. Anyone who runs a speakeasy in this city has to answer to me or pay the price.”

Petra clenches her jaw. She’s biting back several nasty retorts about Rose not being as powerful as she thinks since Sin Rostro’s existence has only been brought to her attention recently. But being contrary won’t solve anything. If Petra wants to get out of here alive, she’s going to have to tread very cautiously indeed.

“Sixty percent,” she offers.

“I’m well beyond wanting your money now.”

“Is that why you killed Emilio? Because from any other standpoint, it was a tremendously ill-advised decision. Rather like killing the goose that lays the golden eggs.”

Rose has a dangerous look in her eye. “Money can only get you so far. At some point, power and prestige become far more valuable than money could ever be. In order to run this city efficiently, I need more than money. I need power. I need to show that I am the most proficient crime lord to ever grace these streets. And so, Petra Andel, I need to make an example of you. If I execute this well enough, no criminal is going to dare to cross Sin Rostro for another five years at least.”

“I suppose I should feel honored,” Petra says dryly.

“I don’t really care what you feel,” Rose says, “as long as you write exactly what I say in your suicide note.”

Petra would laugh if she wasn’t feeling terror set in on all of her extremities. So much for bargaining with Sin Rostro. Rose retrieves a pen and pad of paper from the bar and sets it on the table in front of Petra.

“‘Dear Detective Cordero,’” Rose narrates. “‘I killed that bootlegger and Emilio Solano. I can no longer live with the burden of my crimes. Sincerely…’ Why aren’t you writing?”

“If this is going to be my suicide note, I think it ought to be a tad more convincing,” Petra says. “Anyone who knows me well knows that I wouldn’t off myself because of guilt. If you took this to my mother she would probably die laughing at the very thought of it.”

Rose glares at her, but Petra refuses to be cowed.

“I’m just saying that if you want my supposed suicide note to be believable, it needs some work.”

Petra’s stalling. It’s not even good stalling at that. What is she waiting for anyway? The only person who knows she’s here is here with her, and she definitely didn’t call the police.

“Perhaps you’d like to leave a goodbye to Jane Villanueva in there,” Rose says acerbically.

Petra’s heart clenches. Jane. What she wouldn’t give for Jane to be with her. But that’s a stupid thought—if Jane was here with her, she’d be in danger too. Petra’s only got one card left to keep Jane safe. “You leave Jane alone. She’s got nothing to do with any of this.”

“For now. As long as you do exactly what I say.”

Reluctantly, Petra picks up the pen and begins writing.

“‘Dear Detective Cordero…’”

 

+++++

 

While Jane Gloriana Villanueva is a religious person, she doesn’t necessarily believe that dreams have the power to give warnings or tell of the future. She’s had too many dreams where she shows up to university in her underclothes to put much stock in them as a whole.

And yet, when she wakes up in the middle of the night after she spoke with Michael about Petra needing police protection, Jane strains to remember details of the dream. It had been dark, wherever it was, and a foreboding feeling had settled between Jane’s ribs. Somehow she knew that whatever was lurking in the dark wasn’t threatening her directly, but still she didn’t like not being able to see what was going on. The darkness in the safe house hotel room doesn’t help, so Jane reaches over and fumbles for the light switch. The clock reads just a little after one. Alba and Xo are sleeping soundly in their rooms and Jane allows herself to breathe a little more easily as she leans back against the headboard. It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.

Jane settles back down underneath the covers and tries to go back to sleep. The foreboding comes back so strongly that her eyes snap open. She gets up out of the bed to check on Alba and Xo, who are both sleeping soundly. Neither of them is in danger. They’re far away from Sin Rostro and—

Petra.

The thought hits Jane so suddenly that her mind spins. Petra isn’t out of Sin Rostro’s clutches. Michael said he’d get her police protection, but what if he hasn’t? Petra might still be in danger. She eyes the telephone sitting in the entry hall. Should she call Michael? No, it’s unlikely that he’ll be working at this hour, even with Sin Rostro on the prowl. And even if he is, he’ll just tell her to stop being paranoid and go back to sleep.

Before leaving the apartment to relocate, Jane had grabbed some emergency cash. She goes to where she stashed it in her carpet bag. It’s not a lot of money, but it’s more than she handles for personal expenses on a daily basis. It should be enough for a cab to midtown. She’ll just make sure that Petra’s all right and maybe spend the night with her at Luisa Solano’s place. Just until this feeling goes away.

She doesn’t wake her mother or grandmother before leaving—they’ll only make a fuss—so she leaves a note instead.

Jane gets all the way to the Marbella before realizing that she doesn’t actually know where Luisa lives. Disheartened, she tells the cab driver to stop there and she gets out. Hopefully someone on the night staff knows Luisa’s address.

“Good evening, Jane,” says the doorman. If he’s surprised to see her out and about so late, he doesn’t let it show in his expression.

“Good evening, Hector. Do you happen to know where Luisa Solano lives?”

“No.” Jane moves to pass him and go inside when he continues, “But if you’re looking for her, she’s staying in the hotel tonight.”

Jane stops, turning to face him. “Really?”

“Yes. She and Miss Andel arrived just after my shift began.”

“So Petra’s here? She’s safe?” The relief Jane feels is dizzying.

“Well…” Hector shakes his head slightly. “She was here. Not fifteen minutes ago she came down and asked if I’d seen any suspicious people coming or going and if any of them had had Miss Solano with them. I told her I hadn’t seen anything of the kind and she looked upset. Then she handed me a tip and left.”

“Where did she go?” Jane asks. “Did she say?”

“I’m afraid she didn’t.”

“Did you see which way she went?”

Hector points down the street. “That way. And she turned right down that street.”

So Luisa had been kidnapped, probably by Sin Rostro, and Petra had taken off to find her. She probably hadn’t called the cops first either, the stubborn woman. There isn’t much for Jane to go off of, but if she had to guess, she’d say that Petra was heading towards The Gem. Isn’t that what started this whole thing? Sin Rostro being annoyed by the success of Petra’s business?

“Thank you, Hector. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a call.”

Michael and an automobile full of police officers meet Jane at the intersection she’d specified on the phone. Michael still isn’t entirely sure what’s happening, which he makes abundantly clear after rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“So let me get this straight,” he says. “You think Miss Andel’s meeting up with Sin Rostro in her speakeasy because Sin Rostro kidnapped Luisa Solano.”

“Yes,” Jane says impatiently. “And we’ve already wasted enough time, let’s go!”

“Jane, we can’t just barge in and—”

Jane ignores him and addresses a pair of cops standing nearby. “You. There’s a way to get out of the speakeasy through the back alley. Go cover it in case Sin Rostro tries to escape.”

“You can’t tell my men—”

But it’s too late. The officers are already making their way around the back of the building. Before Michael can air any more objections, Jane marches into the shop and quietly makes her way down the stairs. Rather than being filled with the sounds of her mother’s singing and the buzzing of a crowd, it’s silent except for some stray murmurs. The smell of alcohol still lingers, but it is in nowise as strong as it was on that first night.

Jane stays close to the wall as she peers into the semi-darkness where she can make out two figures, one standing with their back turned to Jane and one sitting.

“Jane.” Michael’s whisper makes her jump and she flaps her hands at him to be quiet. She needs to hear what’s going on.

“—die laughing at the very thought of it.”

Petra’s dry, challenging tone makes Jane’s heart want to sing and scream at the same time. She’s so glad that Petra’s still alive, still okay, but she won’t be for long if she insists on aggravating Sin Rostro like that.

There’s no response from Sin Rostro—Jane squints; is it Sin Rostro? She can make out a curvaceous figure and long red hair, which is baffling, but she also catches a glint in the figure’s right hand that looks horribly like a gun, which is dangerous no matter what one’s preconceived notions of a crime lord are—and Petra presses on.

“I’m just saying that if you want my supposed suicide note to be believable, it needs some work.”

Jane wants to groan. What is Petra doing? She grabs Michael’s arm and whispers, “You need to get in there and stop this.”

“Stop what? They’re not technically doing anything illegal.” He must not have seen the gun yet. Jane’s about to point it out to him when Sin Rostro speaks and confirms Jane’s suspicions about his—or rather, her—identity. The triumph of the confirmation is swallowed up in the confusing nature of Rose Solano’s words.

“Perhaps you’d like to leave a goodbye to Jane Villanueva in there.”

“What?” Michael whispers, confused, but Jane shushes him.

 “You leave Jane alone. She’s got nothing to do with any of this,” Petra says so fiercely that Jane has to brace herself on the wall.

“For now. As long as you do exactly what I say.”

Jane dares to peek around the wall again and sees Petra pick up a pen and begin writing her suicide note at gunpoint.

“‘Dear Detective Cordero…’”

“Michael,” she hisses, more loudly than she intends, “do something!”

A noise comes from the entry hall of the speakeasy and when Petra glances up she catches a brief glance of Jane’s face before it disappears behind the wall. Jane! Jane. Petra feels relieved and terrified all at once. Someone came for her! And it’s Jane! But Jane, the loon, came by herself by the looks of it. She’s going to get herself killed.

Rose hears the noise too. “What was that?” she asks, turning to face the source of it. She turns a millisecond too late to see Jane, but now her guard is up. If Petra doesn’t act quickly, she’ll put a bullet in Petra’s head and then go after Jane.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Petra throws the pen aside and rams the table into Rose’s legs. Rose stumbles backwards and Petra jumps to her feet, shoving the table aside and throwing herself into Rose’s stomach. Rose drops the gun and the two of them go flying and Rose grabs a handful of Petra’s hair and yanks and Petra fights to knock Rose’s legs out from under her. She succeeds in pinning Rose to the floor, but Rose’s is kicking and punching and biting at every inch of Petra she can reach.

The gun skitters a few feet away from where the two women are brawling—Petra clawing at Rose’s face and Rose hissing in pain but still making desperate movements in the direction of her weapon—and Jane starts to run forward to grab it when Michael’s hand clamps down on her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“What you won’t do!”

She shakes his hand off and rushes onto the dance floor. Petra’s almost within reach of the gun, but then Rose slams her head into Petra’s nose and she’s blinded by pain, the hand she was using to reach for the gun coming up and covering her face to try to stem the flow of blood. Rose presses her advantage and stretches her arm out until her fingers are just brushing the gun’s handle.

“Jane, no!” When Petra partially recovers from the blow, she looks up to see Jane too close to the fight for comfort. “Get back!”

Jane stops in her tracks and in that moment Rose gets full control of the gun. Petra tries to wrestle it away and their positions are flipped—Rose on top and Petra with her back pressed against the wooden floor. Rose tries to raise the gun to Petra’s head but Petra grabs it with both hands and strains to point it away from her and away from Jane. Rose struggles to get it pointed back at Petra and the gun somehow ends up between the two of them, its barrel vacillating back and forth with deadly tension.

Just as Jane is trying to decide if she can throw all of her weight at Rose without accidentally causing Rose to shoot Petra, a loud crack rings out across the room. Jane looks over her shoulder to see Michael standing with his gun drawn and pointed at the two women. He shakes his head, indicating that the shot hadn’t come from him. Jane looks back to Rose and Petra, who have both fallen unnaturally still. Rose is still positioned above Petra, inches between their chests.

“Petra?” Jane wants to run to Petra’s side, but her feet are rooted in place. The room seems to sway.

A movement. Petra putting both hands up and pushing Rose off of her, Rose falling heavily to Petra’s side. Blood. Blood on Petra’s hands and chest. Blood on her face, too, but not from getting shot. Jane finds herself kneeling by Petra despite not remembering giving her feet the command to move. A trembling hand hovers over Petra’s chest, not sure what she will do when she finds the bullet wound.

“I’m fine, Jane.” Petra gives her a tired smile. “Sin Rostro got the worst of it.”

Jane can’t tear her eyes away from Petra, not for a single moment in case Petra’s lying and she’s planning on dying as soon as Jane’s attention is elsewhere. Somewhere in her periphery, a figure stoops to check Rose’s pulse.

“She’s alive,” Michael’s voice says from far away. “Hansan, call an ambulance. We can’t let our main suspect in the Sin Rostro case die.”

“I’m fine,” Petra repeats, her eyes locked on Jane’s. She moves to wipe the tears away from Jane’s cheeks but then remembers the blood on her hands and digs a handkerchief out of her pocket and offers it to Jane instead.

Jane hadn’t realized that she was crying. She mops the tears away, then uses the damp cloth to gently remove the blood from Petra’s face. When Petra moves to sit up, Jane puts an arm behind her back and helps. She keeps her arm there even when Petra is upright and wraps her other arm around Petra’s front, holding her like she’ll never let go.

They sit like this until Rose is loaded onto a stretcher and Michael addresses Petra.

“We’ll need to take you back to the precinct for more questioning,” he says.

Petra nods wearily—she’d been expecting it—but Jane shakes her head.

“No.”

“Jane…” There’s a hint of warning in Michael’s voice.

“No,” Jane says firmly. “She needs sleep. She caught Sin Rostro for you and almost died, Michael. Any questions you have for her can wait.”

“It’s all right,” Petra says. “I’d rather get it over with.”

“Then I’m coming too.”

Nothing Petra or Michael says can dissuade Jane so she ends up riding in the back of the police car with Petra, clutching her hand. She sits in the corner of the interrogation room with her arms folded while Michael asks Petra to go over the events of the night in detail and huffs anytime he expresses doubt. Only when he threatens to send her out does Jane keep her disapproval to a nonverbal minimum.

After what seems like hours, Michael finally lets Petra go.

“If you have any more questions, you can find her at the Villanueva residence,” Jane says.

There’s no arguing with her, so Michael drives the both of them to her apartment. Jane immediately takes Petra to her bedroom and insists that she lie down. Petra, too tired to argue, obeys and Jane sits on the edge of the bed and begins stroking her hair.

“You’re fine,” she murmurs as Petra drifts off to sleep. She says it again and again, like a prayer of gratitude and a command and a blessing all at once. “You’re fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I sure do hate writing action sequences. Thank goodness that's out of the way and I can get back to writing romance and angst. The next chapter will probably be the last, although there might be a small epilogue afterwards. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and leaving kudos and commenting!


	13. Chapter 13

Jane isn’t joking about making sure that Petra gets rest after her encounter with Sin Rostro. Although Petra insists that she’s fine, Jane refuses to listen and forbids her from overtaxing herself, which means that Petra spends a lot of time in the apartment. This is made easier by the fact that when Alba and Xiomara get over their initial wariness of Petra, they’re extremely welcoming and don’t make her feel like she’s intruding. She sits with Alba while Xo and Jane are at work and listens to her talk, in hesitant English, about her journey from Venezuela to New York forty years ago with her beloved husband Mateo. Petra finds herself telling Alba about her own emigration from Prague. They swap stories about how awful the accommodations in the ships had been and how jarring it had been to have to learn a new language, a new culture. Alba fondly recalls her family back in Venezuela, which makes Petra almost jealous. She remembers very little about her motherland and nothing about her family outside of her mother. Sometimes Petra goes to Mass with Alba during the week, trying to find solace in the big cathedral and the stained glass. She finds herself envying the faith that Alba has carried with her through the years, wishing that her mother had been more observant in their religion.

Petra’s so used to being constantly busy with the hotel that she has to find ways to keep herself busy around the apartment or she’ll go crazy. She helps Alba cook, she does laundry, she goes grocery shopping. It’s a bit more menial than she’d like, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, at least she gets to see Jane every evening and morning. She gets to fall asleep next to Jane, listening to her even breathing, and wake up next to her. She gets to pretend she’s not watching Jane as Jane reads a book and her face makes comical expressions. She gets to listen to Jane gush about the goulash she made for dinner even though it was simple and Xo doesn’t seem sold on it.

Not that it’s all peaches and cream.

“I’m going to start looking for work,” Petra announces while Jane’s brushing her brown hair before bed.

“No you’re not,” Jane replies without missing a beat.

“Not speakeasy work,” says Petra, thinking that that’s the root of the dismissal.

The brush pauses then Jane continues with long, firm strokes. “That hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, you’d better not be thinking about getting back into that business.”

“I’m not.” Although some days it’s tempting to find Milos and ask if she can manage one of his establishments. She’d feel much better if she could contribute financially to the Villanuevas. “I’m going to use my contacts from my time with the Marbella to scout out the most well-to-do hotels in the city and see if any of them need a manager.”

“You can’t get a job yet. What about Sin Rostro’s trial?”

Michael had come to dinner the other night and told Petra, who he still regarded with suspicion, that she was going to be one of the key witnesses in the trial and that she’d need to block out a large part of her schedule for the time she’d be in court.

“That’s still a while off.” Petra has fairly intimate knowledge of the legal system from her mother’s own trial. “I can’t twiddle my thumbs until after it’s over.”

“You aren’t twiddling your thumbs,” counters Jane. “You’re helping Abuela with running the house. Besides, she likes having the company.”

“She’s got plenty of friends in the building. They come over and chat all the time. Alba’s just humoring me because I’m a guest.” Petra doesn’t give Jane time to object. “And if I got a job, we could pay for someone to come help her with household tasks. That way Abuela…I mean Alba has the company and the help and I don’t have to sit here feeling like a charity case.”

Jane sets the brush down on her secondhand desk with finality and walks over to where Petra’s sitting on the bed. She takes Petra’s face between her hands, her expression serious.

“Is that what you think? That you’re a charity case?”

It’s what her mother called her on the days she was too sick to go out and play on the streets. “What do you think you are? Some kind of charity case for me to take care of? This is America, you need to _work_.” It’s what Rafael’s friends hissed about her behind her back. What else would one call a girl with no family background who has no real right to be anywhere in the city? One of the reasons she worked so hard at the hotel and with The Gem was so that no one could ever accuse her of being unworthy of her place in society, the city, or the country.

Petra shrugs and tries to look away, but Jane holds her steady. Sometimes, Petra thinks, her life would be a lot easier if she didn’t have to contest with Jane Gloriana Villanueva’s gorgeous brown eyes. It isn’t ever a fair fight.

“You’re not a charity case,” Jane says clearly.

What she doesn’t tell Petra—can’t tell Petra—is that she’s terrified of losing her. That seeing her grappling for her life with Sin Rostro had been the worst moment of Jane’s life. She knows it’s silly, but she thinks that if she can just keep Petra inside the Villanueva apartment for the rest of her life, or at least for a few more weeks, she’ll be safe. Jane won’t ever have to go through that again.

Pretending to be disaffected, Petra reaches up and takes Jane’s hands away. She’s fully intending to tell Jane that she’s going to look for work anyway when Jane laces their fingers together and she can’t form coherent thoughts. So she nods and Jane looks relieved. Jane isn’t naïve enough to think that Petra won’t bring it up again, but it’s enough for now. She turns off the light and crawls into bed next to Petra and when she’s sure that Petra’s asleep, she wraps an arm around her. Petra isn’t asleep and snuggles closer into Jane’s embrace.

 

+++++

 

Petra’s been living with the Villanuevas for three weeks when she decides that she has to leave. It isn’t a decision that she makes lightly. Not only will Jane be upset by her departure, Alba will probably be disappointed by it too. But after a conversation between Michael and Jane, she doesn’t really think she has any choice.

On the way out of the apartment one Friday evening, Michael mentions to Jane that they ought to stop by a jewelry store on the way to the cinema since he’s been working overtime at the precinct and almost has enough for a good quality ring. He doesn’t bother keeping his voice down, which shouldn’t annoy Petra because they already act like they’re married but it still sets her teeth on edge.

“Isn’t Michael nice?” Alba asks in English when Petra joins her in the kitchen to make a cake.

“Mmm.” Petra sifts the flour with a little more force than is necessary.

“He will be a good father and Jane will be a good mother,” Alba continues.

Despite not having any love for Michael, Petra can’t disagree. He will be a good father, a good provider. And a thought that’s been lurking in her mind since the early days of her acquaintance with Jane hits her full force—she can’t give Jane what she wants. Jane wants a nice, normal family life and Petra is in absolutely no position to give her that. Even if Jane returned her feelings—which she doesn’t, Petra reminds herself—they couldn’t get legally married and they probably wouldn’t be accepted by Jane’s family and they most certainly couldn’t have children together.

Petra finishes up helping Alba with the cake and then goes to Jane’s room to think. She has to leave, sooner rather than later. She’s hit with the sickening thought that Jane and Michael might be getting engaged that very night and has to sit down and breathe until the nausea goes away. Tomorrow, she decides. She’ll give herself one more night of sleeping in Jane’s arms, but in the morning she’s going to go. Go where, she isn’t sure, but she’ll figure it out. If she needs to she can go to Milos and see what legal positions he has available. None of them will be glamorous, but they’ll serve as a starting point.

Her eyes alight on one of the many books lying around Jane’s room. She thinks back to the many conversations they’ve had about Jane’s higher education. If Jane gets engaged, will she still hold college as a priority? Or will she be satisfied with marriage?

Petra can’t give Jane the future she wants, but there is something she can do to help fulfil at least one dream. The rest of the evening she charts out her plan of action and pretends to be sleeping when Jane comes home a few hours later.

 

+++++

 

When Jane wakes up the next morning, she’s cold. She stretches with her eyes still closed, hoping that Petra will still be asleep enough to allow cuddling. Her eyes snap open when her hands pat empty mattress. Petra’s gone. Jane throws on a robe and tears around the apartment in search of her friend, worried to her stomach. Once she finds the note on the kitchen table, though, she’s angry.

“Dear Jane,” it says, “The past month has been one of the best of my life. Thank you so much for everything you and your family have done for me. I have to go now, but I hope you’ll always think of me with fondness. Love, Petra.”

“Did you know about this, Abuela?” Jane demands.

“No,” says Alba in Spanish after reading the note, shaking her head. “She didn’t mention it to me.”

“She stays with us for a month and then just leaves without even leaving a forwarding address!” Jane says furiously. “She didn’t even say goodbye!”

She stomps back to her room and slams the door, jerking her closet and yanking an outfit out.

“What are you doing?” Alba asks through the door.

“I’m going to go find her!”

“What’s all this noise?” Xo asks sleepily.

“Petra’s gone.”

“Where did she go?”

“I’m about to find out.” Jane throws her bedroom door open and pushes past her bewildered mother and grandmother.

Jane spends the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon going anywhere Petra might be. She starts with the Marbella and Luisa Solano’s place, but no one’s seen her. She goes to The Gem which is still blocked off from the general public as a crime scene. She goes to the concert hall where they saw the symphony and to the bistro where they had dinner. As a last ditch attempt, she even drops by the precinct to ask Michael if he can call the guards at Sing Sing to see if she’s been there to see her mother.

“I’m not going to call Sing Sing, Jane,” Michael says reasonably, as if she’s lost a scarf or a glove instead of one of her dearest friends.

“I’d do it myself but they wouldn’t give me any information because I’m a civilian.”

“You called Sing Sing?”

“Petra’s _gone_ ,” Jane says. He clearly doesn’t understand the weight of the issue. “You’re a policeman, can’t you issue some kind of alert so other cops in the city can be on the lookout for her?”

“Do you think she’s been kidnapped?”

“Well, no, but—” Jane figures out a way to get Michael as worked up as she is. “But you need her for the Sin Rostro case! If she isn’t here to testify, won’t Sin Rostro walk free?”

Michael frowns and looks up from his desk. “The trial is still months away. She’s only been gone for a few hours. I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

Jane is about to storm out of the building and start shaking down bootleggers in the street when Michael continues, “That reminds me. Speaking of Sin Rostro, your reward finally came in.”

“What?”

Michael opens his desk drawer and hands her an envelope. When Jane looks inside she finds it filled with an obscene amount of bills. She doesn’t count it right away, but it’s easily hundreds and hundreds of dollars.

“The city officials were offering a reward for the capture of Sin Rostro,” Michael says. “It’s a thousand dollars. They’ve been slow in getting it—bureaucrats—but here you go.”

“I didn’t capture Sin Rostro,” Jane says. “Petra did. She was the one who figured it all out. This money belongs to her. All the more reason to find her!”

Just as Jane is about to storm out and follow through with her roughing-up-bootleggers plan, Michael shakes his head and mutters, “I told her it wouldn’t work.”

Jane grabs his arm. “What did you just say?”

He eases her down into a chair. “Listen, I saw Petra this morning, all right? She dropped off the cash and told me to give it to you and pretend that it was a reward for catching Sin Rostro.”

“You lied to me about seeing her?!” Jane is beside herself with fury.

“She said she wouldn’t testify at the trial if I told you the truth!”

“Did she tell you where she was going?”

“No, but she said she’d be in touch before the trial started.”

Jane clutches the money in her hand, too incensed to speak. Her jaw is clenched and she makes herself slow her breathing down.

“Jane.” Michael’s voice is pleading. “Can’t you let it go? You haven’t even known her that long. She’s obviously unreliable if she’s running off without saying a proper goodbye like this. With this money we can buy that ring and maybe put a down payment on a house outside the city.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Jane—”

But Jane doesn’t stay to listen to any more of his ideas or excuses. She walks back to her home, dejection seeping into her clothes and skin so that when she finally makes it through the front door, she feels completely weighed down. Ignoring her abuela’s questions, she puts the envelope of money on the kitchen table and then goes into her room to lie down.

Petra’s gone. Petra’s gone and doesn’t want to be found by Jane. Why? Weren’t they friends? Hadn’t they become close? Sure, Michael was right in that they hadn’t known each other for very long, but Jane thought they had something special. They were like family. Weren’t they?

“Jane.” Xo knocks on the door some time later. “Honey, where did you get enough money for four years’ tuition at Barnard?”

This makes Jane get to her feet and open the door. “What did you say?”

“I asked where you got a thousand bucks.”

“No, you asked where I got enough money for four years’ tuition at Barnard,” Jane says. “Why did you say that?”

“Because that’s what it says in the envelope.”

Jane stumbles to the kitchen and finds that all of the bills have been laid out in neat piles of a hundred dollars each. The envelope is sitting to the side and Jane peers into it. Sure enough, the words “this should cover four years at Barnard” are written inside in Petra’s handwriting.

She lets out a shuddery laugh and then starts crying in earnest. If Petra thought that this would be enough to make Jane stop looking for her, she was sorely mistaken. Jane is more determined than ever to find her.

 

+++++

 

Working at the Wawel hotel is just as underwhelming as Petra thought it would be. Although Milos had rolled his eyes at her insistence that she work in one of his legal enterprises, he gave her a job as a hostess at the Wawel anyway. It’s further downtown than the Marbella and it doesn’t attract nearly as many upper class customers, but it’s better than nothing. At least Milos hasn’t brought up marrying her yet. Petra might have to marry him sometime in the future to further her career, but for now she’s content to remain where she is. Well, perhaps not content. She still imagines her mother cackling to see her back where she began, and she misses Jane like she’s never missed anyone or anything. But Jane has enough money to make her university dream come true and she has Michael and a sparkling future full of a church marriage followed by lots of children: she doesn’t need Petra, probably doesn’t even miss her.

Which is why Petra doesn’t get her hopes up when she stops by a deli for lunch one day and hears the proprietor grumbling about a Latina girl who’s been seen in the neighborhood, stopping everyone and anyone and asking them if they know her friend.

“I realize that we are a tight-knit community,” he tells his friend in Polish, “but she should find a more efficient way of finding her friend. This one could take her years.”

Well, Petra doesn’t get her hopes up _much_. The sheer stubbornness of the woman sounds too much like Jane to deny.

A few days later Petra finishes up a consulting meeting with Milos (“I know it’s expensive now, but I promise that getting new carpeting will more than pay off down the road”) and goes back to her post in the lobby to find Jane Gloriana Villanueva standing in front of the reception desk looking very cross indeed.

“Petra Andel,” she says, and it’s unclear as to whether she wants to strangle Petra or hug her.

“Jane.” Petra hazards a smile. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“What the HELL, Petra?!”

The concierge’s eyebrows fly up on his forehead. A couple of the bellboys snicker behind their hands. Whatever they’d been expecting from this conservatively dressed young woman, that wasn’t it. It catches Petra by surprise too, which gives Jane space to continue her tirade.

“I can’t believe you thought you could just _leave_ without even saying goodbye.”

“Jane, please, let me explain—”

“Oh, now you want to explain? You couldn’t have done that a week ago when you left?”

“You wouldn’t have listened to me; you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.”

“Of course I would have! You don’t belong here.” Jane waves her hand around at the lobby. “You belong with my family. You’re family, Petra, and I’m hurt that you’d leave without at least trying to tell me why.”

“Because I don’t want to be your _family_ ,” Petra blurts before she can stop herself.

“Oh.” Jane’s face falls but then she hardens her expression. “I see. Well, I’m sorry to have troubled you. I guess I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Jane, wait—”

But Jane doesn’t wait. She turns on her heel and exits the Wawel, leaving Petra to chase after her into the street.

“Jane.”

Jane keeps walking determinedly out of the neighborhood and out of Petra’s life. She’d read the underlying message of the tuition money and the note all wrong; Petra really does just want to be left alone. Well, that’s just fine with her.

Petra catches up with Jane and hesitates before placing a hand on her arm. “I didn’t mean it like that. I want to be part of your life, but not like you want me to be. I want to be part of your family, I really do, but not as a sister.”

Her words make Jane slow her relentless pace, although she doesn’t stop and she still doesn’t look at Petra. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I…” Petra lowers her voice so she won’t be heard by any of the passersby. “I love you.”

She doesn’t go on to explain that it’s a different kind of love than Jane has for her family or for Lina, but she doesn’t need to. The way she says it reverberates in Jane’s body, and she comes to a full stop then. She barely registers that Petra’s still talking.

“And I know that you don’t, not like that, and that you have Michael and that you two will be a beautiful bride and groom and good parents and I’m trying to be happy for you about that but I can’t, so I had to leave.”

Was that what that was? The warm feeling she’d had when she watched Petra sleeping? The insistent need to make sure that Petra was safe at all times? The feeling of her heart being both hollow and raw when she thought that she might never see Petra again? She hadn’t ever thought about it like that. Something clicks into place in Jane’s mind and she turns to face Petra.

“And really you don’t need me,” says Petra, unaware that Jane’s made a discovery that’s tilted her world on its side. “You have Michael and, even though I hate him for being everything I’m not, he’s a good man and you’ll have a good life together.”

And suddenly Jane sees it. She sees the future that Petra’s talking about—Michael convinces her to give up some of her Barnard tuition money to pay for the ring or the honeymoon or the house. He doesn’t actively discourage her from attending university classes when she gets in, but he makes it clear that he expects her to do her duties around the house as well. She tries to talk with him about the literature she’s reading and he smiles and nods but she can tell that he’s thinking about a case. And then she gets pregnant and her morning sickness is so bad that she has to stop attending classes and she never goes back. And she never writes that novel. And the worst part is that she’s all right with all of it. She’s grateful that she has a steady marriage, a predictable life. It isn’t a bad road at all.

But…

But Petra is so different from Michael. Michael encourages Jane in her dreams, but only to a point. If Jane were to tell him that she was done having goals, he wouldn’t be bothered by it. Petra wouldn’t accept it to the point that Jane would get frustrated with her. “You can’t be finished with having goals,” Petra would say. “You’ve still got so much more to offer to the world. It’s fine if you want to give up your schooling or your writing aspirations, but for God’s sake, pick something else. I don’t care if it’s that you want to sew one thousand dresses or become the president—you’ve got to work towards something.” Petra isn’t the sort who would mind if Jane forgot to make dinner because she was writing an essay. Jane’s life would be so much different if she continued down this path.

“Jane?” Petra sounds worried and Jane realizes that she hasn’t said anything for several minutes.

“How?”

It’s the only question Jane can think to ask and it confuses Petra.

“I’m sorry?”

“How would… I mean, if I did return your feelings, how would it work?”

“Oh.” Petra tries to figure out if Jane is asking about the carnal or logistical aspects of a same-sex relationship. She decides on the latter. “Well, I’d probably ask if I could court you and we’d spend time getting to know each other and we might decide that we’re compatible or we might not and if we decide we aren’t we would break things off and if we decide we are we would move in together.”

“And how would money work? If we moved in together?”

“I would work while you go to Barnard and you could work if you wanted to but you wouldn’t have to.” Petra speaks with a detachment that tells Jane that this is all hypothetical and that she doesn’t expect any of it to come to pass.

“This is all so new and sudden, but things make much more sense now. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

“That’s all right,” Petra says quickly. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t mean just because you miss me. I promise it won’t last.”

“I do mean it,” Jane says firmly. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. You challenge me, Petra. You make me want to stretch, to grow. If I’m ever in a fight, I want you in my corner.”

“Do you mean that?” Petra looks skeptical. “Because you’re the one who makes me a better person, not the other way around.”

“Of course I mean it.” Jane tucks her hand into the crook of Petra’s elbow. “It will take some adjusting and trial and error, and you have to swear to never get caught up in a murder investigation ever again, but I’m willing to work at it if you are.”

Petra smiles that genuine, brilliant smile that only a select few people ever get to see and Jane’s heart tightens. Yes, this is what she wants.

 

+++++

 

Both Xiomara and Alba are understandably surprised when Jane comes home and announces her intentions to them. Alba, although she likes Petra, is worried that such a relationship is a sin, but then Xiomara reminds her about Abril and Elena, two women in their sixties who live together in the next building over and attend Mass every week.

“They’re still good people, Ma,” Xo says. “Their love just looks different than yours or mine, that’s all.”

It still takes some getting used to for all parties involved. The conversation Jane has with Michael is particularly difficult. She doesn’t tell him that she’s seeing someone else, but he still gets upset and talks about how she’ll regret her decision and how he’ll be waiting when she realizes the mistake she’s made.

Jane and Petra take things slow, setting aside one night a week to go to museums or dinner or sit in the Villanueva’s living room and read together. When Jane finds out she’s been accepted to Barnard, Petra takes her to the bistro where they went on their very first date, and when Petra is offered a job at the Waldorf Astoria, Jane takes her to a performance of Verdi in the park. When Jane graduates, Petra is at the ceremony, cheering louder than anyone else. They move in together and have a commitment ceremony where both of them get teary eyed while saying their vows. And when Jane publishes her first novel, Petra insists on being the very first person to buy a copy despite having proofread the novel dozens of times and Jane telling her that she can have a copy for free.

Their early life together is hard, but both of them agree that it’s worth it. After Jane’s finished with her first novel and Petra has a steady income, they have long discussions about expanding their family and how to go about that. One evening when they’re having dinner with Luisa Solano and her new girlfriend, Susanna Barnett, and Luisa mentions that one of her patients is a pregnant unwed mother who can’t keep her baby but doesn’t want to give it up to the orphanage. Jane and Petra share a single look and in no time at all baby Mateo comes home to live with them. Alba was right—Jane is a good mother. Petra’s more hesitant to interact with their son; she worries that she’ll be as bad a mother as her own mother was. But Jane helps talk her through her fears and has Petra interact with Mateo as much as possible and it soon becomes abundantly clear that Petra will never, ever let anything harm her son. She and Jane take turns getting up in the night when he’s teething and Jane loves falling asleep to the sound of Petra singing to him in Czech. Twins Anna and Elsa join them the same way Mateo does. On days when Jane is feeling overwhelmed, Petra takes the day off and takes the children to see Abuela or to the park while Jane takes a nap or reads a book.

“Is this what you thought it would be like?” Jane whispers to Petra on Christmas Eve when Mateo is five and Anna and Elsa are three. It’s a Christmas tradition for them to spend the night at abuela and bisabuela’s house after going to midnight Mass, and the three of them are sprawled out underneath the tree while Jane and Petra are curled up on the sofa.

Petra takes in Mateo’s curly hair, Elsa’s rosy cheeks, the way Anna’s sucking her thumb, and Jane’s tired but radiant smile.

“It’s better,” she whispers back, placing a kiss on her wife’s temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Finally finished! Thanks for hanging in there. :) Let me know what you think about the ending!
> 
> xoxoxo
> 
> (Also I refuse to accept that Susanna Barnett was Really Rose All Along, so in this AU she's a real person and she's good and wholesome and so so good for Luisa.)


End file.
